SWEET  ALYSSUM 


POEMS 


BY 


MARGARET  A.  LOGAN 


BUFFALO 
CHARLES  WELLS  MOULTON 


Ft 


COPYRIGHT, 

1894, 
BY  MARGARET  A.  LOGAN. 


PRINTED  BY 

CHARLES  WELLS  MOULTON, 
BUFFALO,  N.  Y. 


TO 

MY  BROTHER  AND  SISTER, 
REV.  NO  WELL  LOGAN,  D.  D., 

AND 

KA  THARINE  MA  C  NEIL  L  O  GAN, 

THIS  BOOK 
IS  LO  VINGL  Y  DEDICA  TED. 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

A  DREAM  IN  THE  DESERT 9 

THE  LITTLE  GREEN  DRESS 17 

SUNRISE 19 

AT  SUNSET  TIME 21 

ARIADNE 22 

THE  FIRST  FOOT 24 

BY  THE  OLD  MILL 26 

IN  MEXICO 28 

BLUE  INNOCENTS 30 

THE  RESURECTION  FLOWER 31 

OCTOBER 33 

ALEXANDER  AND  JADDUA 34 

THE  WHITE  ROBE 37 

UNDER  THE  BAOBAB 39 

Two  SPINNERS 41 

SUCCESS 43 

THROUGH  LEAFLESS  BOUGHS 44 

THE  ORGAN 45 

RIVER  MURMURS 49 

THE  REVENGE  OF  THE  CRAY-FISH.  .....  50 

THE  STEAMBOAT  RACE 54 

ROCHE  A  DAVION 57 

THE  BROKEN  ARROWS 59 


vi  CONTENTS. 

A   CHEROKEE   ROSE 62 

SOEUR  MARGUERITE 63 

THE  JOGGLING-BOARD 66 

THE  CHINA  TREE 69 

OUR   MARGARET 71 

THE  ANGEL   OF   GETHSEMANE 74 

FOR  MY  DEAR  LOVE 75 

SUB    ROSA 76 

A  MISTAKE 77 

THE  LOST  MAGNIFICAT 78 

THE  WINNING  WAY 81 

PHARAOH'S  DAUGHTER .   .    83 

LIZZIE'S  PICTURE 85 

THE  RIDE 86 

MICHAELMAS 87 

"THE  WITNESS  OF  NINEVEH" 90 

SEA-SHORE  CAMP-MEETING 93 

IN  MEMORIAM 96 

WADE  HAMPTON'S  DREAM 98 

TARDY 100 

DISSECTION 101 

THE  SILENT   BELL 102 

Music 104 


6"  WEE  T  AL  YSS  UM. 

LO  W  border  plant  that  forms  such  fair  enclose 

For  our  gay  annual  beds,  or  garden  rows, 

'  Neath  summer  suns  we  view  with  calm  delight 

Thy  tiny  flowerets,  honeyed  tufts  of  white; 

And  in  thy  leaves  'twas  said  there  dwelt  some  power 

To  soothe  the  maddened  soul.     A  blessed  dower. 


A  DREAM  IN  THE  DESERT. 


( Abouasan,  an  aged  Arabian,  and  Pharandaces, 
a  young  Persian,  are  on  the  road  approaching  an 
oasis}. 

PHARANDACES: 

NAY,  friend,  I  owned  some  charm  in  desert  life 
At  early  morn,  when  yonder  mountains  threw 
From  their  bald  heads  broad  shadows  to  the  base; 
Or  yester  eve,  when  all  the  warm  winds  blew, 
Moving  the  sand  like  some  soft  swell  at  sea. 

ABOUASAN: 

Ah!  now  'tis  changed  indeed. 
PHARANDACES: 

Now,  not  the  scant  shade  of  o'er  hanging  rock; 
And,  here,  the  sand  ridge-rolled  as  outcast  field, 
There,  smooth  as  surf-beat  shore  or  shingly  beach, 
That  makes  more  tense  this  glare  of  quivering  light. 
Still,  too,  so  still!     No  partridge  heard  to  whirr, 
Nor  bark  of  jackal  as  he  scours  the  plain, 
No  eagle  flies  its  cloudland  home  to  reach, 
Only  the  vultures  in  broad  circles  sweep 
Scenting  the  bones  of  some  dead  caravan. 


io  SWEE  T  AL  YSSUM. 

ABOVASAN: 

See  here  a  crack  in  this  straight  ledge  of  rock. 
It  marks  the  entrance  to  some  wady  washed 
By  mountain  stream.     Take  heart!  there's  herbage 
near. 

PHARANDACES: 

And  water,  water,  wherewith  I  may  still 
My  patient  dromedary's  piteous  moan. 
I'll  sponge  his  nostrils  there,  before  I  lave 
My  own  sun-blistered  lips,  and  give  him  fare 
Other  than  camel-thorn  ere  I  repose. 

( They  enter  the  ravine  and  descend  a  few  steps}. 
AnouASAN: 

'Tis  as  we  thought.     Behold  green  islands  fringed 
With  arrowy  rush! 

PHARANDACES: 
But  water,  where  ? 
ABOUASAN: 

Where  grows  yon  royal  palm  amid  the  waste, 
Rearing  its  head  in  lonely  majesty. 

PHARANDACES: 

Voices  I  hear.     Right  welcome  company! 
ABOUASAN: 

This  is  the  way  that  Sheba  should  return. 

Some  moons  have  waned  since,  westward,  here  she 

passed 
Seeking  the  great  king  at  Jerusalem. 


A  DREAM  IN  THE  DESERT.         n 

PHARANDACES: 

And  didst  thou  see  that  wondrous  train  indeed, 
And  Yemen's  queen,  Balkis,  the  fair,  the  wise  ? 

ABOUASAN: 

A  thousand  odors  filled  the  astonished  air 
Sickened  so  late  by  vulture's  carrion  breath. 
Balsam  and  cinnamon,  myrrh,  frankincense, 
And  India's  almug-tree  their  fragrance  blent 
While  in  the  sunlight  many  a  jewel  shone, 
With  Ophir's  gold.     And  men,  and  camels  all 
In  richest  cloths  were  decked;  finest  e'er  wrought 
In  India's  famous  looms,  patterns  most  intricate 
Such  as  thy  country  weaves.     And  then  the  queen ! 

PHARANDACES: 
Aye,  Aye,  the  queen! 

ABOUASAN: 

Have  patience,  youth!     She  mid  her  maidens  rode 
Like  Persian  pearl.     More  bright  than  all  the  stones 
That  break  the  sunbeam  in  their  lucid  rounds. 
Perfect  she  seems,  from  instep's  high-arched  curve, 
To  eyes  soul  lighted,  whose  unveiled  beams 
Outshine  Arcturus  or  Orion's  band. 
Proud  stepped  her  camel,  white,  of  Syrian  breed, 
Beneath  her  royal  weight,  and  sweetly  chimed 
The  silver  bells  that  spanned  his  slender  throat. 

PHARANDACES: 

In  truth  thou  lovest  the  stars,  and,  loverlike, 
Dost  paint  thy  youthful  queen,  Abouasan. 

ABOUASAN: 

She  is  the  daughter  of  our  race  and  reigns 
No  less  in  Yemen's  hearts  than  o'er  its  homes. 


1 2  SWEE  T  AL  YSSUM. 

See  there  the  tent  upon  the  unbroken  sward; 
We  will  approach  the  men  and  share  their  salt. 

( While  they  are  welcomed  and  refresh  themselves, 
the  tent  opens  and  the  Queen  of  Sheba  is  seen  con 
versing  with  Ketttrah,  her  favorite  handmaid}. 

KETURAH: 
Then,  thou  wilt  never  wed  ? 

BALKIS: 

It  may  be,  when  more  wisdom  I  have  gained 
Some  fitting  mate  I  shall  consent  to  choose, 
But  love — speak  not  of  that!     For  when  there  fell 
Upon  my  brow  the  burden  of  a  crown, 
In  that  same  hour  I  solemnly  forswore 
All  selfish  ties,  all  narrow  household  joys. 

KETURAH: 
I  think  my  mother  has  the  blame  of  this. 

BALKIS: 

My  much-loved  nurse!     Of  Hebrew  lineage  she, 
And  oft  to  us  their  legends  would  recount, 
Rebecca's  wooing  thy  most  favored  theme, 
But  I  chose  Miriam's  triumphant  song 
Or  Deborah's  glorious  chant  of  victory; 
And  then  I  longed  to  be  a  prophetess. 

KETURAH: 

So,  when  their  great  king's  fame  had  reached  thine 
ears, — 

BALKIS: 

I  might  not  stay;  but,  maiden,  speak  no  more, 
Draw  close  the  curtain.     Let  me  rest  awhile. 


A  DREAM  IN  THE  DESERT.         13 

(She  sleeps,  then  starts  up  suddenly  and  calls  her 
maids). 

BALKIS: 

Oh!  I  have  dreamed  a  dream,  strange,  beautiful! 
Would  that  there  were  some  learned  Magi  near. 

KKTURAH: 

Abouasan  and  a  fair  Persian  youth, 
Pharandaces,  are  now  within  the  camp. 

BALKIS: 
Haste;  spread  my  carpets,  I  will  sit  without. 

(A  throne  is  arranged  beneath  the  palm  and  when 
the  strangers  have  been  presented  to  the  queen  she 
narrates  her  dream). 

BALKIS: 

Alone,  I  was,  amidst  yon  waste  of  sand 
Weary  my  feet  and  seared  with  thirst  my  tongue; 
I  could  have  died  with  weariness  and  pain. 
When,  lo!  a  distant  cloud,  a  caravan! 
And,  on  a  nearer  view,  they  all  were  kings 
That  camels  rode,  white  like  my  Syrian  there; 
Of  every  nation  on  this  star-watched  earth, 
And  weary  seemed  they  as  of  hopeless  quest. 
Then  came  a  voice,  borne  to  me  from  within, 
"  A  little  Child  shall  lead  them,"  and  forthwith 
A  shout  arose:     "The  Star!   The  Star!  The  Star!" 
Loud  was  it  echoed  through  that  kingly  throng. 
In  the  clear  sky  of  noon  no  sign  appeared 
And,  yet,  towards  one  point  all  eyes  were  bent; 
'Twas  in  the  west  where  the  great  temple  stands. 


14  SWEET  ALYSSUM. 

Soon  were  they  fled,  for  e'en  the  camels  roused 
From  listless  plodding  stirred  to  gain  that  spot. 
Then,  but  a  western  cloud,  to  me,  appeared, 
Far  as  the  eastward,  I  had  seen  before. 

ABOUASAN: 

Strange  dream,  indeed! 
BALKIS: 

All  not  yet  told,  for  as  these  onward  moved 
A  mellow  glow,  such  as  our  Yemen  knows, 
Displaced  the  fiery  glare;  and  gently  fell 
A  healing  dew  o'er  all  the  parched  ground, 
So  that  the  very  thorns  did  bud  and  bloom 
And  bring  forth  full-blown  roses,  such  as  deck 
Thy  Persia's  fairest  plains,  Pharandaces. 

PHAR  AND  ACES: 

A  happy  omen  be  thy  beauteous  dream, 
And  flowers  e'er  spring  around  thy  royal  way! 

BALKIS: 

Canst  thou  speak  aught  of  this,  Abouasan  ? 
ABOUASAN: 

Queen  well-beloved,  thou  dost  thy  lineage  trace 

From  Sheba,  worshipper  of  yonder  sun; 

All  happy  stars  presided  at  thy  birth, 

But  wisdom's  planet  crowned  thy  horoscope! 

I  met  the  famous  magi  of  our  land 

When,  reading  thence  thy  future,  they  foretold, 

Thou  shouldst  all  women  far  excel  in  this 

The  love  of  learning,  and  thy  name  should  be 

Through  ages  known  as,  Seeker  of  the  truth. 


A  DREAM  IN  THE  DESERT.         15 

BALKIS: 
So  have  I  heard,  but  this  reads  not  my  dream. 

ABOUASAN: 
Spake  not  the  great  king  of  Messiah's  reign  ? 

BALKIS: 

Full  oft,  and  in  their  sacred  books  'tis  said 
Some  Son  of  Solomon  shall  rule  the  world, 
A  greater  yet  than  he. 

ABOUASAN: 

Wiser  as  child  than  he  the  wisest  king; 
Glorious  with  glory  earth  ne'er  dreamed  before; 
Drawing  the  nations  all  with  wondrous  power, 
Even  as  Solomon,  by  fame,  hath  drawn 
Thee  from  thy  home  in  Araby  the  Blest. 

KETURAH: 

And  so  thy  memory  of  these  Hebrew  tales, 
Yon  oleander,  bright  as  Sharon's  rose, 
And  all  the  leagues  thou  didst  so  wearily 
Tread  through  the  burning  sand — 

BALKIS: 

Nay!  nay!  some  dreams  be  only  fancies  wove 
From  waking  hours.     This,  I  believe 
Was  sent  me  by  the  stars.      Go,  bring  thy  lute, 
And  maidens,  sing  that  Temple  song  that  speaks 
The  advent  of  some  king. 

(fCeturah  sing's}. 
Lift  up  your  heads  ye  gates! 
The  King  of  Glory  waits  to  enter  in. 
(Other  maidens  rejoin}. 
Who  is  this  king  that  waits  to  enter  in  ? 


16  SWEE  T  AL  YSSUM. 

(KeturaK). 

The  Lord  of  hosts  the  conqueror  of  sin 
Lift  up  your  heads  ye  gates! 

CHORUS. 

Lift  up  your  heads!     Lift  up  your  heads! 
Lift  up  your  heads  ye  gates! 

(Keturah], 
Be  ye  lift  up  ye  everlasting  doors! 

(Maidens}. 
And  who  is  he  that  entrance  now  implores  ? 

(Keturah). 

The  Prince  of  Peace  whom  heaven  and  earth  adores. 
Lift  up  your  heads,  ye  gates! 

CHORUS. 

Lift  up  your  heads!  Lift  up  your  heads! 
Lift  up  your  heads,  ye  gates! 

BALKIS: 

The  Prince  of  Peace!     He  cometh  as  a  child; 
The  Lord  of  host,  strong,  mighty  to  prevail. 
Oh!  may  he  haste,  indeed,  to  enter  in 
And  bring  the  nation's  wisdom,  safety,  peace. 

(All  join  in  the  chorus  until  the  very  rocks  re 
sound}. 

Lift  up  your  heads!     Lift  up  your  heads! 
Lift  up  your  heads,  ye  gates! 


THE  LITTLE  GREEN  DRESS.         17 


THE  LITTLE  GREEN  DRESS. 

SOON  will  melt  the  ice  and  snow, 
Soon  the  buds  begin  to  blow, 
And  the  birdies  will  be  building  as  they  sing; 
Then  a  new  dress  made  with  care 
Must  my  little  girlie  wear, 
Fresh  and  fair  is  she  as  any  flower  of  spring. 

Come,  my  maidie,  tell  to  me 

Of  what  color  it  shall  be, 
White  like  daisies  with  their  pale  pink  rim, 

Or  like  the  violets  blue, 

Or  the  yellow  cups  that  strew 
The  bank  beside  the  babbling  brooklet's  brim  ? 

She  will  have  a  robe  of  green, 

So  declares  my  tiny  queen. 
Six  springtimes  has  my  little  girlie  known, 

But  last  year  she  first,  alas! 

Watched  the  creeping  of  the  grass 
Until  all  the  bare,  brown  earth  was  overgrown. 

Then  she  thought  that  tender  green, 

Sweetest  color  she  had  seen; 
So,  green  shall  be  the  dress  she  is  to  wear. 

To  the  town  I  soon  must  go, 

Soon  as  melts  the  winter  snow. 
And  a  pretty  gingham,  green,  I'll  buy  her  there. 


i8  SWEET  ALYSSUM. 

There's  no  flake  of  snow  around; 

Frost  and  ice  have  left  the  ground; 
Snow,  frost  and  ice  are  all  within  my  heart, 

For,  before  the  daisies  smiled, 

Death  came  and  claimed  my  child; 
And  from  me  now,  will  winter  ne'er  depart. 

There,  within  the  orchard  shade, 

They  a  tiny  hillock  made; 
Then,  quickly  crept  the  grass  and  clothed  it  o'er, 

Clinging  like  a  soft  caress; 

And  this  was  the  green  dress 
The  dress  of  green  my  precious  baby  wore. 

Yet,  sweet  dreams  will  come  to  me; 

Oft,  in  visions,  I  can  see 
Wondrous  light,  and  hear  a  wondrous  song; 

Then  my  frozen  heart  will  thaw, 

For  in  dreaming,  thus,  I  saw 
A  white  robed  child  amid  a  shining  throng. 


SUNRISE.  19 


SUNRISE. 


MID  rugged  hills  before  the  break  of  day, 
A  vale  below,  above,  the  mist-crowned  height, 
My  roan  and  I  had,  darkling,  picked  our  way 
'Till  dawn's  first  glow  shut  in  the  stars  of  night. 


Quick,  then,  began  o'er  mountain  top  to  float, 
That  field  of  mist.  Here  pale,  there  dark,  it  broke; 

In  wondrous  forms,  where  on  their  outlines  smote 
The  hidden  beam,  touched  with  a  light  that  spoke 

Of  lingering  glory.     Soon,  those  cloud-built  forms 
Brought  to  my  mind  the  sun-myths  of  all  lands, 

That  vaguely  mirror  how  our  dear  Lord  rose, 
Shone  the  true  Light,  and  loosened  death's  dark 
bands. 


Majestic  pillars  now  old  Norse  gods  seem; 

In  converse  deep  resolve  they  how  to  wake 
Raider,  the  bright  one;  and  yon  dazzling  gleam, 

Is  wave  of  Siegfried's  sword.  With  one  wild  shake 

Of  every  fiery  mane,  far  upward  spring, 
Apollo's  coursers,  who  drag  in  the  day. 

Here  mounts  Bellerophon;  each  heavenly  wing, 
Pegasus  spreads  to  bear  him  to  the  fray. 


20  SWEE  T  AL  YSSUM. 

Where  light  with  darkness  strives,  and  find  we  there, 
England's  St.  George  whose  dragon  dread  lies 
slain, 

Though  from  the  carcass  living  heads  uprear 
While  he  fights  on  and  gives  no  stroke  in  vain. 

A  serpent  coiled  doth  wake  to  sudden  bound, 
My  startled  steed.     This  brings  me  to  the  Nile, 

The  winged  sun-disk  this  reptile  twines  around, 
Held  sacred  there,  with  us  the  type  of  guile. 

Assyria  next;  Shamar  at  last  has  freed 
Ishtar  the  fair  from  all  the  powers  of  hell; 

So  through  the  nations  runs  the  self-same  creed. 
I  wake  from  dreams  at  sound  of  chapel  bell. 

Of  pealing  bells.     For  now  the  sun's  first  ray 
Gilds  yonder  village  cross;  it  shines  in  scorn, 

Of  faiths  less  pure.     New  flowers  bloom  on  the  way 
And  birds  sing  blithely,   "  This  is  Easter  Morn." 


A" 


A  T  SUNSET  TIME.  21 


AT  SUNSET  TIME. 

T  sunset  time, 

Give  me  no  noisy,  bustling  crowd  around, 
Give  me  no  giddy  mirth  nor  jarring  sound; 
For  I  would  then  be  silent  and  alone, 
Or  with  me  take  some  friend  whose  spirit's  tone 
In  sympathy  would  chime. 

It  matters  not  the  clime; 
Whether  that  glory  linger  on  the  crest 
Of  snow-wreathed  hills,  or,  in  soft  blushes  rest 
On  mountain  lake,  or  from  that  splendor  break 
Clouds  red  and  gold,  the  artist  soul  to  wake 

Or  gem  the  poet's  rhyme. 

It  whispers  faith  sublime 
Of  suns  not  lost,  but  rising  on  some  shore 
Unknown.     Of  loved  ones  gone  before. 
Of  endless  dawn  from  shade  of  earth  e'er  free. 
Let  me  not  miss  that  message  writ  for  me 

At  sunset  time! 


22  SWEE  T  AL  YSSUM. 


ARIADNE. 

?  ""'TWAS  years  ago,  in  Rome,  I  had  this  dream. 
1       'Mid  its  dark  catacombs  I  groped,  led  by  the 

gleam 

From  one  pale  torch  held  in  my  nervous  grasp, 
While  closer  still  my  right  hand  sought  to  clasp 
The  coil  of  string,  that  slender  backward  guide 
To  light  and  air.  Now,  soon  on  every  side 

Strange  sights  I  saw.      Such  heaps  of  dead  men's 

bones 

And  grinning  skulls;  I  fancied  dying  groans 
And  visions  saw  of  martyrs  at  the  stake; 
Reading  some  scrolls,  I  sudden  turned  to  take 
The  path  that  once  to  an  old  chapel  led, 
There  my  foot  slipped — and  lost,  my  guiding  thread! 

Oh,  agony!  thus  living  chained  to  death! 
I  cursed  and  prayed,  all  in  one  quivering  breath. 
The  skulls  still  grinned,  they  seemed  to  understand. 
I  groped  and  groped,  but  only  grasped  the  sand. 
The  torch  burned  low  as  every  path  was  tried; 
Some  low,  some  high,  some  narrow  and  some  wide. 

At  last  one  led  me  to  an  open  space 
Where  the  old  altar  stood,  and  there  a  face, 
An  angel  face  from  out  the  dim  light  shone. 
And  resting  near  it  on  the  hallowed  stone 
Lay  my  lost  thread.     Oh,  joy,  like  a  new  birth! 
Again  to  see  the  sun,  and  warm  green  earth! 


ARIADNE.  23 

Not  all  a  dream.     In  labyrinth  as  dire, 

Of  aims  confused  and  uncontrolled  desire, 

I  wandered  long  and  seemed  e'er  doomed  to  grope; 

No  outward  clue,  lost  to  all  higher  hope; 

Then  shone  the  angel  face,  'twas  thine,  my  wife, 

I  found  through  thee  the  lost  thread  of  my  life! 


24  SWEET  ALYSSUM, 


THE  FIRST  FOOT. 

A  BONNIE  lass  at  the  ingle  sits, 
The  Old  Year  is  almost  dead; 
Nimbly,  as  by  the  blaze  she  knits, 

Her  needles  throw  off  the  thread. 
The  night  is  cold  and  the  sky  is  dark, 

And  the  wind  is  wailing  sore; 
But  'tis  New  Year's  Eve,  and  the  maid  must  mark 
The  first  foot  to  cross  her  door. 

"  Rest,  Jeanie,  dear,  for  the  hour  is  late: 

How  the  wind  doth  moan  and  sigh!  " 
"Mother,  come  knit  beside  me  and  wait 

Till  we  see  the  Old  Year  die. 
My  lover  true  will  then  come  to  me, 

My  love  from  the  Sol  way  shore; 
This  word  he  has  sent,  that  his  own  shall  be 

The  first-foot  to  cross  my  door." 

"True,  Jean,  the  auld  wives  say  that  ill 

Or  good,  for  the  coming  year, 
Will  follow  the  one  who  o'er  the  sill 

First  steps.     But  the  night  is  drear. 
He  can  never  brave  this  wind  and  rain, 

So  rest,  now,  and  rise  before 
The  day  well  dawns.     When  you  listen  again 

Your  first  foot  may  cross  the  door. ' ' 

"  Knit  with  me,"  still  the  maiden  said — 
Together  they  watch  and  wait; 


THE  FIRST  FOOT,  25 

The  cuckoo-clock  sounds  twelve  o'erhead, 

And  her  lover  is  at  the  gate. 
"Ah,  now,"  cried  Jean,  "there's  no  ill  to  fear, 

Good  luck  is  for  us  in  store; 
Since  my  lover  has  braved  the  night  so  drear, 

The  first  foot  to  cross  our  door. ' ' 


26  SWEE T  AL  YSSUM. 


BY  THE  OLD  MILL. 

MEET  sovereign  seemed  she  of  that  rural  place, 
For  flower  and  stream  had  lent  her  every  grace ; 
As  the  fair  foam,  her  face  and  neck  were  pure. 
Tho'  each  soft  cheek  the  Azalia's  blushes  wore, 
The  jasmine's  hue  was  in  her  flowing  hair, 
And  many  a  playful  sunbeam,  sporting  near, 
Burnished  its  gold;  her  eyes  of  tender  gray 
Shone  clearer  than  the  water's  crystal  spray, 
Sweet  violets  pressing  forth  her  steps  to  greet 
Less  dainty  seemed  beside  her  dainty  feet: 
Some  bird  had  taught  her  its  melodious  note, 
For  as  I  gazed,  sweet  strains  began  to  float, 
By  gentle  breezes  borne  the  banks  along, 
And  this,  the  burden  of  the  maiden's  song: 

Ripple  bright  water,  ripple  and  splash, 

Over  the  busy  wheel; 
Then  to  the  greenwood  merrily  dash, 

Through  ferny  thickets  steal; 
Flow  on,  flow  on,  to  the  fay-queen's  bower 

Under  the  hawthorn  tree, 
And  ask  of  her  elfin  grace  the  power 

To  bring  a  true  lover  to  me; 
To  me,  to  me,  to  me, 

To  bring  a  true  lover  to  me. 

For  this  is  the  merry  month  of  May, 

A  time  when  every  bird 
Is  seeking  to  name  its  wedding  day, 

Their  wooings  sweet  I've  heard; 


BY  THE  OLD  MILL.  27 

E'en  the  cawing  crow  begins  to  coo 

Soft  as  the  turtle-dove, 
And  I,  with  the  birds,  am  waiting  too, 

For  some  one  to  whisper  love; 
Love!  love!  love! 

For  some  one  to  whisper  love! 

She  paused,  and  ere  the  strain  so  tender  sweet 

Died  on  the  enchanted  air,  her  tiny  feet 

Had  left  the  mourning  violets  all  alone, 

And  from  my  heart  earth's  brightness  too  had  flown. 


28  SWEET  ALYSSUM. 


IN  MEXICO. 

T  WANDERED  to-night,  in  Mexico, 

1     While  waiting  for  you;  see,  'tis  half  past  ten. 

"  And  what  did  I  find  there  ?  " 

Come,  listen,  then. 

I  saw  those  mountains  that  snow-crowned  stand, 
And  the  Aztec  city — 'twas  not  so  grand 
As  Prescott  paints — and  the  lakes  around, 
And  I  saw  Cholula,  that  ancient  mound. 

I  saw  mesquite  groves,  lime  and  orange  bowers, 

Cacti,  orchids  and  lilies,  the  rarest  flowers; 

Juan  doffed  his  broidered  sombrero, 

And  Juanita  folded  her  mantle  so 

That  her  charms  I  guessed  from  one  glimpse,  alone; 

Like  stars  through  the  dawn  her  dark  eyes  shone. 

There  were  houses  of  stone  with  walls  quite  thick, 

And  others  of  adobe,  a  sundried  brick. 

I  saw  feather-work,  and  pearl-carvings  rare, 

Fire-opals  and  onyx;  and  sitting  there, 

I  played  at  curveta,  a  gambling  game 

For  women;  our  lotto  is  much  the  same. 

I  drank  goat's  milk  and  ate  peppery  meat, 
Tamalis  called,  and  then,  nueces  sweet, 
Cheese  made  from  the  fruit  of  the  prickly  pear, 
And  tortillas,  a  bread  they  from  corn  prepare, 


IN  MEXICO.  29 

Soaked  in  water  and  lime  and  ground  quite  fine; 
Then  I  took  just  a  sip  of  Maguey  wine, 
That  famous  pulque.     A  magic  glass, 
Scare  drunk  ere  heroes  began  to  pass. 

I  saw,  by  his  men,  Montezuma  shot, 

And  Guatimozin  tortured,  yet  murmuring  not; 

I  witnessed  their  dread  sacrificial  feasts; 

Saw  Cortes,  Las  Casas,  viceroys  and  priests; 

"  Remember  the  Alamo!  "  heard  the  Texans  cry 

As  the  Stars  and  Stripes  swiftly  floated  by; 

'Twas  Taylor,  and  Quitman,  audTwiggsand  Scott, 
Who  bore  them  along,  and  they  faltered  not 
Until  gained  were  the  heights  of  Chapultepec; 
Then  the  Aztecs  hastened  their  land  to  deck 
For  an  Austrian  prince  who  had  come  to  reign; 
Soon,  soon  did  the  star  of  his  empire  wane. 

I  saw  him  shot,  and  Carlotta's  sigh, 

Borne  over  the  ocean,  seemed  wafted  nigh. 

That  broke  the  spell,  I  was  only  here 

Wondering  at  your  lohg  absence,  dear, 

And  I  smiled  when  I  thought  you'd  be  pleased  to 

know 
How  I  wandered  to-night  in  Mexico. 

"  How  did  I  get  there  ? "     You  heard  the  band 
Playing  to-night  at  their  usual  stand. 
Strange!  is  it  not?  that  a  well-tuned  string, 
Or  a  tube  well-voiced,  has  such  power  to  bring 
A  spell  o'er  the  wondrous  realm  of  thought, 
Until  visions  appear,  uncalled,  unsought, 
And  as  fancy  bids,  we  rove  to  and  fro, 
So,  I  wandered  to-night  in  Mexico. 


30  SWEE  T  AL  YSSUM. 


BLUE  INNOCENTS. 

f~^  RAY  in  the  sky,  slow  moving  clouds  of  gray; 

vj    Bare  all  the  trees,  save  where  in  clusters  clung 
The  forest  vampire,  gray-green  mistletoe, 

Or  where  the  long  gray  moss  in  garlands  swung 
From  lofty  limb  to  leaf-strewn  walk  below, 
By  the  wild  winter  wind  tossed  to  and  fro. 

So  weeks  of  gloom,  then  in  a  happier  day 

The    red-bud   dreamed   of  spring,   and  purpling, 

threw 

Its  roseate  boughs  athwart  the  forest  brown; 
The  gladsome  sunbeams  gave  a  silvery  hue 
To  the  sad  moss,  and  on  the  turfy  down 
Houstonia  came,  its  fairy  knolls  to  crown. 

Parting  four  petals,  each  a  sapphire  ray, 
All  set  between  with  little  golden  eyes. 

'Tis  well  called  Innocence,  the  dainty  flower, 
So  like  an  infant,  as  it  dreaming  lies 
On  mother's  breast,  waked  by  a  sudden  shower 
Of  kisses  soft  and  warm,  the  baby's  dower. 


THE  RESURRECTION  FLOWER.      31 


THE  RESURRECTION  FLOWER. 

NEAR  that  curst  city  compassed  round 
By  Israel's  host,  till  at  the  sound 
Of  trumpet  blast  it  fell; 
I  stood  upon  the  shingly  shore, 
A  western  wind  from  Bethlehem  bore 
The  sound  of  convent  bell. 

Far  distant,  shone  the  sapphire  sea, 
But  here,  more  welcome  sight  to  me, 

The  pearly  Jordan  rolled; 
For,  by  its  banks,  the  Son  of  God, 
With  human  feet,  had  often  trod 

In  blessed  days  of  old. 

An  Arab  chief  was  resting  near, 
Wafting  away  the  clouds  of  care 

In  wreaths  of  fragrant  smoke; 
"Abu,"  I  said,  "  what  thinkest  thou? 
Is  there  a  God?  "     With  placid  brow, 

The  shiek  his  silence  broke. 

"My  brother,  truly  hast  thou  said 
There  is  a  God,"  he  bowed  his  head. 

"Abu,  one  question  more — 
Dost  think  that,  though  this  body  dies, 
From  dust  it  shall  some  day  arise 

And  live  forevermore? " 


32  SWEET  ALYSSUM. 

Stooping  from  mid  the  herbage  gray, 
He  drew  a  shapeless  ball  that  lay 

Just  at  the  river  side; 
A  mass  of  leaves  all  curled  and  brown, 
Like  those  that  chilled  by  winter's  frown, 

In  some  rude  hollow  hide. 

Placing  it  where  each  rippling  wave 
The  withered  roots  might  gently  lave, 

He  said,  "  My  brother,  know, 
Our  Father's  God,  this  truth  hath  showed 
To  IshmaePs  sons,  when  He  bestowed 

The  Rose  of  Jericho!  " 

Its  home  it  makes  in  desert  sand, 

There  blooms  and  dies.     No  human  hand 

Removes  that  shrivelled  coil, 
But,  o'er  it  sweeps  the  simoom  strong 
On  wings  of  wind  'tis  borne  along 

'Till  lodged  in  holy  soil. 

"  Now  let  my  brother  mark  the  rose!  " 
We  waited,  day  began  to  close, 

Longer  the  shadows  grew; 
And,  o'er  the  slopes  of  Olivet, 
The  sun,  as  royally  he  set, 

Threw  many  a  radiant  hue. 

Then,  lo!  the  coiled  roots  unwound, 
Each  tiny  leaflet  late  embrowned, 

Soft  living  tints  assumed; 
And,  like  some  corpse  restored  to  breath, 
Type  of  Christ's  triumph  over  death, 

Anastatica  bloomed! 


OCTOBER.  33 


OCTOBER. 

KING'S  messengers  are  now  upon  the  hills, 
Their  golden  crowns  amid  the  sunset  gleam, 
And  all  that  crimson  blaze  that  clouds  we  deem 
Is  trail  of  purple  robes.     Earth  throbs  and  thrills 
'Till  a  like  splendor  all  the  forest  fills; 
And  in  the  east  the  late  wild  roses  seem 
Lingering  to  watch  that  glorious  western  beam, 
Who  comes?    Who  comes?    Some  conqueror  dread 

who  wills 

With  show  of  pomp  to  cloak  the  work  of  death? 
Nay,  nay,  'the  Lord  our  Righteousness,'  his  name; 
'Eternal  Life,'  his  heralds  all  proclaim; 

This  to  his  subjects  he  doth  freely  give. 
"Live,  live  forever," — hearken  what  he  saith, — 
"Live,  live  forever;  come  to  me  and  live." 


34  SWEE  T  AL  YSSUM. 


ALEXANDER  AND  JADDUA. 

THE  Conquer  comes!  so  rang  the  fearful  cry 
Around  Jerusalem.     Each  encircling  hill 
Made  mournful  echo,  and  a  shuddering  sigh 

Swept  through  the  olives  of  Gethsemane,  until, 
Filling  each  street,  it  hushed  the  city's  hum — 
He  comes  in  wrath!     The  Conqueror  has  come! 

All  through  the  day  the  temple  courts  were  thronged 
With  worshippers,  and  high  the  heavenward  flame 

Of  sacrifice  uprose,  with  prayer  prolonged 

'Till  midnight  hours,  yet  no  deliverance  came — 

God  of  our  fathers!  Israel's  strength  and  stay! 

Wilt  Thou  forsake  us  in  this  direful  day  ? 

Grey  morning  dawned,  and  in  their  midst  appeared 
The  high  priest  Jaddua,  who,  with   tears,    had 

sought 
Jehovah's  guidance.     Gladly,  he  declared 

A  heaven  sent  dream  had  this  strange  message 

brought: 

"  Go  forth  to  meet  the  foe!    Wear  robes  of  state! 
Adorn  the  city!    Open  wide  each  gate." 

On  came  the  mighty  Macedonian  host 

Which  twice  had  overcome  proud  Persia's  power; 
Phenicians,  Chaldeans,  aye,  those  ranks  might  boast 

Each  race  had  yielded  them  its  martial  flower; 
The  prospect  place  was  reached,  called  Sapha,  where 
In  after-years  fell  Jesus'  pitying  tear. 


ALEXANDER  AND  JADDUA.         35 

What  wondrous  sight  there  burst  upon  their  gaze! 

A  throng  of  people  clothed  in  garments  white, 
And  foremost  Jaddua.     'Neath  the  noontide  rays 

The  golden  plate  upon  his  breast  gleamed  bright, 
Showing  God's  name.     A  purple  robe  he  wore 
And  his  broad  brow  the  sacred  mitre  bore. 

The  Syrian  kings,  then,  greatly  joyed  to  see 
Those  hated  Jews;  for,  soon,  like  mighty  Tyre, 

Low  in  the  dust  Jerusalem  would  be. 

"  Had  not  these  people  roused  the  conqueror's  ire 

When  they  refused  the  Persian  oath  to  break 

And  a  new  league  with  Alexander  make?" 

Not  long  o'erjoyed,  but  angered  and  amazed 
When  leaving  them,  the  worshipped  prince  drew 
near, 

Saluted  Jaddua,  on  his  breast  plate  gazed, 
And  praised  the  Holy  Name  engraven  there — 

"Why  shouldst  thou,  whom  all  the  other  men  obey, 

Unto  this  Jewish  high  priest  homage  pay  ?  " 

So  questioned  they,  Parmenio  at  the  head. 

"  No  priest  I  worship,  but  that  gracious  God 
Whom  he  adores,"  then  Alexander  said, 

"  For  ere  the  soil  of  Asia  I  had  trod, 
"  In  Macedonia,  still  of  doubtful  mind, 
"  One  came  to  me  in  vestments  of  this  kind. 

'  'Twas  in  a  dream,  and  thus  the  vision  spake: 
"  Make  no  delay,  but  pass  beyond  the  sea; 

"  God  destines  thee  Darius'  power  to  break 
"  And  thou  shalt  conqueror  of  all  Asia  be. 

"  Now,  when  this  priest  in  the  same  garb  I  view, 

"Assured  I  feel  the  promise  shall  be  true." 


36  SWEE  T  AL  YSSUM. 

Back  through  the  city  gates  all  passed  in  peace 

And  to  the  temple  Alexander  led 
To  offer  sacrifice.     Jaddua,  to  increase 

His  faith  in  heaven,  there  from  the  prophet  read 
How  God  had  shown  to  Daniel,  years  before, 
The  four-winged  leopard  should  the  bear  o'erthrow. 

Then  onward  went  the  glorious  young  Greek, 
Nor  blood,  nor  rapine  only,  marked  his  course; 

Where'er  he  passed,  still  art  and  learning  speak 
Of  him  who  planted  there  their  earliest  source 

So,  like  some  prophet,  he  prepared  a  way 

Where  holy  Paul  should  bear  the  Gospel  ray. 


THE  WHITE  ROBE.  3? 


THE  WHITE  ROBE. 

"And   they   shall   walk    with    me   in   white;    for  they   are 
worthy." — REV.  111,4. 

WAS  winter,  the  earth  lay  brown  and  bare, 
Save  in  snug  little  hollows  here  and  there, 
Green  mosses  and  ferns  were  nestling  near 

Each  crevice  of  clay  or  stone; 
And  on  rising  ground  in  the  fallow  field, 
Stood  holly  and  oak  that  are  wont  to  wield 
'Gainst  the  nipping  frost  a  leathery  shield, 
Though  the  winds  oft  made  them  moan. 


Other  bushes  and  trees  were  leafless  all, 

For  the  life  of  the  plant  in  early  fall, 

Fled  back  to  the  stem  until  spring  should  call 

To  each  .slumbering  bud,  "  Appear  ? ' ' 
And  the  flowers,  throwing  their  petals  down, 
Curled  into  the  seed-pods  dry  and  brown 
And  to  visit  the  mother-root  were  gone, 

Weaving  clothes  for  their  summer  wear. 


Then  soft,  still,  slow, 

Suddenly  came  the  snow, 

And  lit  the  whole  earth  with  unearthly  glow; 

Filling  the  hollows  everywhere, 

Hiding  all  that  lay  brown  and  bare, 

And  the  greenest  old  oak  was  glad  to  share 

This  garment  that  shone  so  wondrous  fair. 


38  SWEE  T  AL  YSSUM. 

Soft,  still,  light, 

It  fell  all  through  the  night: 

And  the  world  that  waked  to  the  heavenly  sight 

Seemed  to  sleep  and  dream  of  that  crystal  sea, 

Round  the  great  white  throne  where  the  blesse'd  be, 

Singing  "Holy,  Holy,"  eternally, 

Clad  in  robes  that  are  freed  from  every  stain 

In  the  blood  of  the  Lamb  that  once  was  slain. 

A  multitude  out  of  every  land, 
And  the  victor's  palm  is  within  each  hand, 
For  their  Captain  there  by  the  Judge  doth  stand 
And  his  righteousness  is  the  robe  they  wear. 
Grant,  dearest  Lord,  ere  with  souls  made  bare 
Of  earthly  shams  we  shall  each  appear 
Before  that  throne,  on  Thy  Name  we  call 
So  that  snowy  robe  may  in  mercy  fall, 
Hiding,  cleansing  and  covering  all; 
Making  us  worthy  to  walk  in  white, 
By  the  crystal  sea  in  the  Land  of  Light! 


UNDER  THE  BAOBAB.  39 


"UNDER  THE  BAOBAB." 

THERE,  'neath  the  torrid  skies, 
Watched  by  no  loving  eyes 
All  that  was  mortal  lies 
Of  MofFat's  daughter; 
Like  a  true,  English  wife 
Shared  she  the  toil  and  strife, 
For  souls  gave  her  life, — 
So  love  had  brought  her. 

Where  the  Zambesi  flows 
Fed  by  the  mountain  snows, 
There,  then,  her  grave  they  chose; 

Lianas  now  hide  it, 
Under  that  giant  tree, 
Noble  old  guardian  he, 
Scarce  we  the  mound  may  see, 

Rude  cross  beside  it. 

Thick  grows  the  jungle  grass, 
Beasts  from  the  river  pass, 
Only  their  cries,  Alas! 

Echoes  there  waken; 
Yet  doth  the  stream  he  found 
Murmur  with  gentle  sound 
That  humble  home  around, 

Home,  now  forsaken. 

Where  they  together  wrought; 
Livingstone  healed  and  taught, 
Sharing  his  task,  she  sought 


40  SWEE T  AL  YSSUM. 

Cares,  all,  to  lighten. 
'Till,  through  each  tender  vein, 
Throbbed  the  fierce  fever  pain; 
No  more,  might  she  remain 

Dark  days  to  brighten. 

Lone,  then,  he  labored  still 
Sowing  the  Seed  until 
Glad,  at  the  Master's  will, 

Life  he  resigned. 
Borne  o'er  the  ocean  wide 
'Mid  England's  pomp  and  pride, 
Hero  and  Saint  beside, 

His  dust  enshrined. 

Thus,  though  their  ashes  lie 
Sundered  the  ocean  by, 
May  meet  their  spirits  nigh 

Afric's  bright  river, 
Bending  in  blessing  o'er 
Those  who.  on  that  dark  shore, 
Toil  as  they  toiled  before, 

Souls  to  deliver. 

Under  the  baobab  tree 

Where  scarce  the  mound  we  see, 

That  woman's  name  shall  be 

Murmured  in  blessing; 
And,  many  a  martyr  band 
Won  from  that  heathen  land 
There,  by  her  grave,  shall  stand, 

Christ's  cross  confessing. 


TWO  SPINNERS.  41 


TWO  SPINNERS. 

SLOW,  slow,  such  endless  toil 
With  threads  in  an  even  row, 
You  spin  so  smooth,  so  soft,  so  fine. 
Friend,  let  me  show  you  a  brave  design. 

No  answer?    Then  off  I'll  go 
And  leave  you  to  wind  your  simple  coil, 
Slow,  slow,  such  endless  toil! 

Nimble  and  quick,  angle  and  curve, 
Spinning  like  mine  doth  praise  deserve. 
I  draw  out  my  thread,  now  low,  now  high, 
And  a  web  stands  outlined  against  the  sky; 
Then  I  wait  and  watch,  and  'tis  not  so  long, 
Ere  is  heard  the  hum  of  the  insect  throng. 
Nimble  and  quick,  angle  and  curve, 
Spinning  like  mine  doth  praise  deserve. 

Well,  ah!  well,  your  work  will  stand 
Until  swept  away  by  a  careful  hand. 
The  critic  comes,  you  are  fallen,  crushed, 
And  that  buzzing  of  praise  is  forever  hushed. 
Tis  so  when  a  spinner  of  cobwebs  dies, 
Naught  but  the  end  of  his  catching  flies. 

And  how  will  my  fellow  craftsman  fare 

Who  lias  wrapped  himself  in  his  cocoon  there? 

A  glorious  change  .that  burial  brings 

For  the  toiling  grub  will  have  gained  his  wings, 


42  SWEET  ALYSSUM. 

And  his  work  remains.     Reel  off  the  floss, 
Pure  shining  gold,  not  a  sign  of  dross! 
This  gives  one  patience  for  working  slow 
With  no  pattern  of  brave  design  to  show; 
So  I  weave  content,  little  cocoon  mine, 
Though  the  world  is  praising  yon  cobweb  fine. 


St/CCESS.  43 


SUCCESS. 

1  FANCIED  her  a  fair  and  flower-crowned  maid 
Compassed  with  rosy  light, 
And  at  her  shrine  youth,  hope,  and  fortune  laid; 
She  never  blessed  my  sight. 

So  passed  the  years,  and  I,  grown  old  and  gray, 

Thought  not  her  wreath  to  wear, 
For  death  had  borne  the  loving  friends  away, 

Who  joyed  my  joy  to  share. 

'Twas  then  a  calm-eyed,  low-voiced  woman  came 

That  dreary  hour  to  bless. 
I  gently  greeted  and  besought  her  name: 

Smiling,  she  said,  "Success." 


44  SWEET  ALYSSUM. 


THROUGH  LEAFLESS  BOUGHS. 

THE  golden  glories  of  yon  beechen  grove, 
Amid   whose   spreading   houghs   November 

strove 

To  hide  in  that  bright  veil  the  shafts  of  death 
Flung  with  each  falling  of  her  frosty  breath, 
Lie  in  brown  heaps  or  rustle  o'er  the  plain 
At  wind's  wild  will,  and  branches  bare  remain! 

Now  stands  revealed,  a  lovely  glimpse  of  sky 
The  leafy  screen  had  hidden  from  our  eye, 
Clear  blue  at  noon;   at  even's  earliest  hour 
Flushed  with  the  soft  pink  of  the  almond  flower, 
And  palest  purple,  such  as  violets  show 
Which  in  their  native  home  mid  mosses  grow. 

Dreams  born  of  earth,  fall  with  life's  autumn  day; 
Some  rudely  break,  some  ripen  to  decay; 
Through  leafless  boughs  we  look  beyond  and  see 
That  home  of  light,  that  waits  the  soul  set  free; 
Friends  smile  upon  us  who  have  passed  before — 
When  such  the  gain,  who  would  lost  years  deplore  ? 


THE  ORGAN.  45 


THE  ORGAN. 

1  STOOD  where  all  the  nations  of  the  earth 
Had  gathered  all  their  gifts,  in  the  far  South 
By  the  great  river's  curve.     And,  there  beheld 
Sights  such  as  make  the  old  grow  young  once  more 
In  spirit,  freshened  by  the  flood  of  ideas  new 
That  come  to  swell  the  ebbing  tide  of  thought; 
The  young  grow  old  with  glimpses  of  the  vast, 
Far-reaching  field  of  knowledge  spread  before. 
Sound,  too,  was  there,  all  sound.     The  mighty  roar 
Of  steam,  the  giant  slave,  who  toils  to-day 
Like  blinded  Samson  with  his  locks  outgrown, 
A  people's  sport  and  then  a  people's  woe; 
Mixed  with  the  voice  of  man,  the  hum  of  wheels, 
The  chime  of  bells,  and  strains  from  Aztec  land, 
Played  by  her  white-plumed  band.     Yet  all  seemed 

lost 

In  harmony  that  moment  when  the  keys 
Of  the  great  organ,  'neath  the  master's  touch 
Sinking,  set  free  the  air  in  those  great  tubes, 
And  Mendelssohn,  Beethoven,  Mozart  lived  again 
In  heavenly  symphony  and  wordless  song. 
While  yet  that  echo  lingered  in  my  ears, 
At  home,  I  turned  the  German  poet's  page 
And  wove  his  legend  into  English  rhyme. 

****** 

Cecilia  was  a  maid  of  ancient  Rome 
Whose  gentle  heart,  seemed   framed    for    Music's 
home, 


46  SWEET  ALYSSUM. 

And  long,  she  sought,  from  each  vibrating  string, 

Those  melodies  to  bring 

That  with  unspoken  rapture  filled  her  saintly  soul. 

To  her  the  faintest  sound  of  living  thing 

In  tuneful  waves  would  roll. 

Then  sighing  softly  at  devotion's  hour, 

Cecilia  prayed  sweet  heaven  would  grant  her  power 

To  hear  aright  that  wondrous  song  of  praise 

Which  all  the  creatures  raise, 

A  blessed  angel  who  was  hovering  near, 

Stooped,  as  he  sped  upon  the  Master's  ways, 

And  smiling,  touched  her  ear. 

Oh,  ecstasy  untold! 

As  those  once  blind  behold 

When  first  restored  to  sight 

Form  lost  in  maze  of  light, 

So,  with  one  mighty  voice, 

She  heard  the  earth  rejoice; 

Heard  living  creatures  all 

Upon  each  other  call 

To  magnify  the  Lord. 

Yet  every  tone  was  heard 

Of  fish,  or  beast,  or  bird, 

The  midge's  tiny  wing 

Its  tribute  come  to  bring, 

Faint  rustling  sounded  o'er 

The  lion's  loudest  roar. 

And  though  each  sound  was  there 

Of  earth,  or  sea,  or  air, 

Their  burden  was  the  same; 

"  Praise  ye  the  Lord  and  magnify  his  Name!  " 

Great  oaks  and  lofty  pines, 

And  graceful  drooping  vines, 


THE  ORGAN.  47 

The  violet  of  the  vale, 

Queen  lilies  red  and  pale; 

Nor  sensate  things  alone, 

For  every  clod  and  stone 

Would  sound  a  loved  "  Amen." 

And  grand  the  chorus  when, 

Strong  wind  and  gentle  breeze 

Made  harps  of  giant  trees, 

Waves  dashed  upon  the  shore 

Waking  a  wild  uproar. 

Soft,  sweet,  slow, 

Floating  down  below, 

Down  the  celestial  stairs 

The  music  of  the  spheres 

That  poets  oft  have  sung 

In  measured  cadence  rung. 

The  smallest  orb  that  round  the  empyrean  moved 
Called  on  its  sun  to  magnify  the  Lord. 
No  discord  there,  for  even  wrathful  word 
And  groan  of  pain  mixed  with  that  strain  was  heard 
But  as  a  needed  counternote  to  joy  and  praise, 
Its  perfect  sweetness  seeming  yet  to  raise. 
All  must  be  harmony  where  all  is  tuned 
To  the  great  master-chord  of  Endless  Love. 


Too  soon  it  died  away,  creation's  song. 
Then  sought  the  maid  the  memory  to  prolong, 
"  Oh  that  the  echo  with  us,  yet,  might  stay  !  " 
The  heavenly  herald  heard  her  gently  pray. 
Then,  one  well-skilled  in  handiwork,  he  sought 
Inspired  like  Bezaleel  who  wondrous  wrought 
In  Sinai's  wilderness,  at  God's  command. 
And  lingering  near  him,  led  the  willing  hand 


48  SWEET  ALYSSUM. 

With  reed  and  stop  to  fashion  fittingly 
A  wondrous  frame  replete  with  harmony; 
That  every  separate  sound  of  earth,  sea,  air, 
Might  find  some  chord  or  note  responsive  there. 

Again   with   praise  all   heaven   and  earth   seemed 

stirred, 

Again  creation's  song  Cecilia  heard. 
"  How  shall  I  call  this?  "  she  enraptured  cried  — 
The  angel  still  stood  smiling  at  her  side — 
''What  name  bestow  on  instrument  so  rare  ?  " 
"  Call  it,"  he  said,  "  What  thou  didst  seek  in  prayer, 
Devotion's  Organ.     Let  each  soul  express 
Through  this,  its  praise,  its  longing,  its  distress, 
And  that  of  other  souls  breathed  through  it  hear 
In  sympathy.     May  never  earth-bound  spirit  dare 
To  make  these  heaven-sent  harmonies  respond 
To  sound  of  base  delight  or  pleasures  fond." 


Cold,  dead,  that  heart  that  at  the  organ  peal 
Can  feel  no  holier  impulse  o'er  it  steal 
To  drown  all  earthly  care, 
Yet  ne'er  that  heavenly  echo  comes  to  bless, 
Filling  the  inmost  soul  with  melody,  unless 
God's  Angel  touch  our  ear. 


RIVER  MURMURS.  49 


RIVER  MURMURS. 

MICHE  Sepe!     Prince  of  Rivers! 
Flowing  onward  to  the  sea, 
Though  thy  silver  surface  quivers, 

As  the  moonbeams  dance  with  glee, 
Those  dark  currents  down  below 
Ever  whisper  words  of  woe! 

From  the  lake  that  marks  thy  rising 
To  the  gulf  that  meets  thy  mouth, 

From  the  northwest,  enterprising, 
To  the  orange-blossomed  South, 

Men  have  come  to  make  their  graves 

With  De  Soto  and  his  braves. 

Now  reveal  to  me,  great  river, 
Tales  of  this  and  other  days, 

While  I  watch  the  moonbeam's  quiver 
As  it  with  thy  ripple  plays  ? 

Hark!  the  river  murmurs  so, 

Now  of  joy  and  now  of  woe! 


50  SWEE  T  AL  YSSUM. 


THE  REVENGE  OF  THE  CRAY-FISH. 

WHERE  those  lone  live  oaks  are  standing 
In  that  spreading  sugar  field, 
Near  the  bank  beside  it  landing 

Boats  to  bear  the  luscious  yield, 
Once  was  seen  a  planter's  home, 
Peering  through  their  boughs,  green  dome. 

With  low  roof  but  broad  and  shaded, 

Wide  verandas  all  around 
Which  the  mock-bird's  song  invaded, 

Symphony  of  sweetest  sound; 
In  a  garden  gay  with  roses 
Two  fair  children  gathered  posies. 

When  from  all  the  fields  were  wending 

Loaded  wains  of  sugared  freight, 
When  the  orange  boughs  were  bending 

Burdened  with  a  golden  weight, 
Busy  hands  while  cutting  canes 
Sang  their  lively  harvest  strains. 

Then  two  merry  children  playing 

By  the  river's  muddy  brirn, 
With  pin-hook  and  line  were  slaying 

Such  small  fish  as  near  it  swim; 
Shouting  wildly  with  delight 
When  they  took  the  fatal  bite. 


THE  REVENGE  OF  THE  CRA  Y-FISH.    51 

More  than  all  the  ugly  cray-fish 

Was  uplifted  with  applause, 
For  it  furnished  them  a  rare  dish 

With  its  fat  and  juicy  claws; 
Better  bisque  than  lobster  gumbo, 
Not  these  children  only,  thought  so. 

Soon  the  mill  began  its  grinding 

And  the  carrier  swift  to  run, 
Then  these  careless  playmates,  finding 

Promise  there  of  greater  fun, 
Left  the  cray-fish,  now,  to  swim 
Calmly  near  the  river  brim. 

But  while  little  lips  were  sipping 

The  sweet  cane  juice  running  off. 
And  while  little  hands  were  dipping 

Cuite  from  out  the  cooling  trough, 
Vengeful  cray-fish  down  below 
Were  swift  swimming  to  and  fro. 

Spring  is  here!  the  bee  is  humming 

Wakened  from  his  winter's  rest, 
And  the  swallow  now  is  coming 

In  the  eaves  to  build  his  nest, 
Sweet,  the  blooming  orange  trees, 
Perfume  every  passing  breeze. 

List!  the  plough-boy's  merry  singing 

Chiming  with  the  cattle  bell, 
And  the  children  now  are  bringing 

Pale  blue  violets  from  the  dell. 
Coming  home  with  glowing  faces, 
Breathing  hard  for  running  races. 


52  SWEE  T  AL  YSSUM. 

Now  the  melted  snow  is  making 
Torrent  of  each  tiny  stream 

And  the  ice  above  is  breaking 

'Neath  the  spell  of  warm  sunbeam, 

Then  the  unchained  waters  flow 

Swelling  that  full  tide  below. 

Soon  the  men  are  busy  mending 
The  high  levee  all  around, 

That  their  river-front  defending 
Keeps  the  water  within  bound, 

But  those  cray-fish  down  below 

Still  swim  swiftly,  to  and  fro. 

And  an  old  grandame  is  saying 
To  the  young  fish  at  her  side: 

"  While  our  enemies  are  playing 
We  make  entrance  for  the  tide. 

Many  drills  may  sunder  mountains, 

Little  holes  can  open  fountains. 

"  Courage,  then!  with  steady  boring, 
By  to-night,  our  work  is  done, 

And  the  uncaged  river,  roaring, 
Shall,  before  another  sun, 

Bear  those  children  on  its  waves, 

Far  beneath  to  watery  graves!  " 

Night  has  come,  the  stars  are  beaming 
On  two  little  golden  heads, 

And  the  children  sweetly  dreaming, 
Nestled  in  their  downy  beds: 

Dreaming  o'er  their  happy  hours 

Passed  amid  the  birds  and  flowers. 


THE  RE  VENGE  OF  THE  CRA  Y-FISH.    53 

Hark!  what  sound  the  stillness  breaking, 

With  a  sudden  gleam  of  light, 
Those  sweet  sleepers  rudely  waking 

In  the  darkest  hour  of  night  ? 
Hear  the  dreaded  signal  pass. 
This  the  cry,  Crevasse!  Crevasse! 

Hear  the  frantic  mother  screaming: 
"  Oh!  my  children!  where  are  they  ?  " 

By  the  lantern's  fitful  gleaming, 
Little  feet  have  lost  their  way, 

And  the  waves,  that  fitful  night 

Bear  them  swiftly  from  her  sight. 

Gone,  that  happy  home's  foundation, 

Gone,  the  vines  and  orange  trees: 
On  the  spot,  a  cane  plantation 

Overlooked  by  live-oak  trees, 
And  beneath  those  currents  deep, 
Two  fair  children  sweetly  sleep! 


54  SWEE  T  AL  YSSUM. 


THE  STEAMBOAT  RACE. 


O  PLENDID  were  those  palace-packets, 
O     Ere  the  war  between  the  states, 
None  though  like  that  second  Natchez 

And  the  Lee,  those  rival  mates; 
Bold  the  captains,  clerks,  and  pilots, 

Famed  for  kindliest  chivalrie, 
But  none  loved  like  Thomas  Leathers, 

And  John  Cannon  of  the  Lee. 


'Twas  still  June  in  Eighteen-seventy 

When  both  thronging  stream  and  shore, 
Were  the  eager  waiting  thousands. 

Signal  scarcely  given  before 
Swung  the  ax,  her  ropes  were  severed, 

And  a  well  trained  eye  could  see, 
Though  they  seemed  to  start  together, 

Gained  two  minutes  had  the  Lee. 


Now  were  men  all  betting  heavy, 

While  the  women  wildly  waved, 
Colored  folk  e'en  risked  their  quarters, 

Children,  dimes  from  candy  saved; 
And  the  rivals  steamed  by  bravely 

('Twas  a  glorious  sight  to  see), 
They  had  no  freight,  but  passengers, 

Were  forty  on  the  Lee. 


THE  STEAMBOA  T  RACE.  55 

And  among  them  walked  one  proudly, 

Like  a  millionaire  just  made, 
For  he  held  his  shoulders  squarely 

As  some  soldier  on  parade. 
So  we  looked  on  him  with  wonder, 

But  the  cause  soon  learned  when  he 
Came  escorting  a  fair  lady 

Up  the  cabin  of  the  Lee. 

Now  this  bride  was  tall  and  slender, 

Dark  her  coronal  of  hair, 
Dainty  mouth,  and  eyes  that  sparkled 

With  a  light  so  blue  and  clear 
That  it  seemed  like  sunshine  stolen 

From  the  cavern  at  Capri; 
And  we  said,  good  luck  came  with  her 

To  the  steamer  Robert  Lee. 

When  we  swiftly  steamed  by  Natchez, 

By  fair  Natchez  on  the  hill, 
All  her  citizens  were  cheering, 

Cheered  for  Leathers  with  a  will; 
But  a  group  of  small  truck-farmers 

Had  left  plow  in  crop,  to  see, 
And  every  coarse-clad  veteran  there 

Was  hard  betting  on  the  Lee. 

Then  said  some  they  greatly  angered: 

"Will  you  go  against  the  town? 
Men,  mark  you  not  yon  warrior 

With  tomahawk  and  frown?" 
And  quick  one  answered,  "Stranger, 

Yes,  the  figure-head  I  see, 
And  brave  Injuns  was  them  Natchez, 

But  we  fought  with  old  Bob  Lee." 


5 6  SWEE  T  AL  YSSUM. 

Both  made  halt  at  war-worn  Vicksburg, 

'Mid  her  terraces  so  green, 
The  loud  guns  roared  out  a  welcome 

As  those  racers  trim  were  seen, 
Helping  hands  for  both  were  ready, 

'Twas  some  test  of  fealty 
Between  their  sister  city  Natchez 

And  the  loved  old  leader  Lee. 

We  could  rest  no  more  till  Memphis, 

With  our  rival  still  in  sight, 
On  we  sped,  white  wakes  behind  us, 

Like  sea-meteors  in  the  night. 
Stopped  the  other  to  put  coal  on 

We  towed  coal  along,  you  see; 
Then  good  luck  was  ours;  remember, 

For  that  bride  was  on  the  Lee. 

So  one  hour  ahead  at  Cairo, 

And  still  gaining  on  the  way, 
Until  we  reached  St.  Louis  early 

Morn  of  Independence  Day. 
We  had  won,  and  loud  they  cheered  us, 

But  it  gave  no  pain  to  see 
When  the  Natchez  made  her  entry, 

She  had  welcome  like  the  Lee. 

And  they  gave  their  city's  freedom 

To  each  captain  with  his  crew — 
Some  fair  ladies  have  grown  weary 

While  I  told  this  story  true, 
Of  the  last  race  on  the  river, 

(Such  a  race  you  ne'er  will  see), 
Between  Tom  Leathers'  second  Natchez 

And  her  mate,  the  R.  E.  Lee. 


ROCHE  A  D AVION.  57 


ROCHE  A  DAVION. 

IN  that  alcove  scooped  amid  rising  cliffs 
By  nature's  hand,  safe  float  the  skiffs; 
There  no  rude  winds  blow,  no  wearing  shock 
Of  beating  waves  against  outstretched  rock. 
Ere  white  men  claimed  all  this  wide  domain 
And  gained  it  often  by  deed  of  shame; 
Here  the  Tunicas  dwelt.      On  yonder  hill 
Some  stately  trees  spread  their  branches  still; 
Green  as  of  old  'neath  that  grateful  shade 
Creeps  the  cheerful  grass  with  its  tender  blade, 
But  their  wigwam  town  that  crowned  its  crest 
Is  forever  gone.     Gone  that  symbol  blest 
Which  once  on  the  highest  bluff  appeared, 
The  cross  of  wood,  Father  Davion  reared, 


Not  for  dreams  of  gold  or  fame,  their  home 
Those  Fathers  left  'mid  these  wilds  to  roam. 
The  world  was  Christ's,  so  his  name  they  bore 
Through  forests  drear  to  a  dreary  shore. 
Davion,  the  priest  had  his  work  begun 
Amid  the  howling  tribe  of  the  sun 
Whom  we  Natchez  call.     They  gave  no  heed 
Too  fierce  and  too  proud  for  the  gospel  creed, 
So  he  wandered  here  and  a  welcome  found; 
At  eve  would  the  Tunicas  gather  around 
Filled  with  silent  awe.    Then  might  be  seen 
Chief,  papoose,  and  squaw,  on  the  turfy  green, 


58  SWEET  ALYSSUM. 

Stretched  or  standing  erect  while  good  Davion  spoke 
The  message  of  peace  from  his  pulpit-oak. 
Their  savage  souls  with  soft  wonder  stirred 
Would  melt  and  glow  'neath  that  heavenly  word. 
"Now,"  cried  the  faithful  Father  aloud, 
"  Come  confess  and  live  who  are  contrite  bowed;" 
To  the  shore  near  that  frienely  alcove  led 
While  the  star  of  eve  its  faint  lustre  shed 
And  the  deep  dark  river  more  calmly  flowed; 
There  the  sacred  rite  he,  with  prayer,  bestowed. 
****** 

So  years  had  passed  when  one  morn  was  heard 
No  sound  of  prayer,  and  no  voice  conferred 
The  blessing  of  peace.     There  was  Davion  where 
So  oft  he  had  knelt,  hands  clasped  in  prayer, 
His  hair  in  the  sun  gleamed  silver  white 
But  the  set  face  shone  with  a  heavenly  light. 
They  laid  him  to  rest  near  his  own  loved  oak 
And  long  years  after,  old  chieftains  spoke 
Of  the  good  White  Father  in  tones  of  awe 
To  the  wondering  youth.     Then  the  wrinkled  squaw 
Would  her  grandchildren  often  of  Davion  tell 
How  he  prayed  for  the  sick  and  could  make  them 

well 
How  his  voice  and  his  smile  like  new  maize  were 

sweet, 

How  for  days  he  ate  nothing,  no  bread,  no  meat; 
And  his  spirit,  they  said,  roved  the  old  camp  ground 
Where  no  wigwam  ruin  could  now  be  found; 
When  they  saw  it  with  hands  as  in  blessing  spread 
All  the  tribe  knew,  then,  that  some  chief  was  dead. 


THE  BROKEN  ARROWS.  59 


THE  BROKEN  ARROWS. 

•'  /'~>  IVE  us  time  our  crops  to  harvest," 
\3    This  the  conquered  Natchez  pleaded, 

"  Ere  we  go  new  homes  to  make  us." 
But  their  prayer  was  all  unheeded; 

One  moon  only  gave  the  white  men, 

"Twenty  days,  and  onward  march  then." 

So,  out  spake  the  chief,  White  Apple, 
"  We  have  borne  but  bear  no  longer, 

Gone  our  homes,  now  would  they  starve  us, 
Those  false  white  men,  nay,  but  stronger 

Make  our  cause,  oh,  Great-Sun  children! 

Call  we  on  our  brave  red  brethren." 

Swift  then  sped  those  Indian  runners, 
Sought  the  Chickasaws  and  Choctaws, 

Of  the  Frenchman's  falseness  told  them, 
Bade  all  rise  in  one  great  Race-cause; 

Quiver  gave  each  tribe  as  token, 

Twenty  arrows,  to  be  broken. 

One  each  morning,  this  the  signal, 
This  the  hour  for  joint  uprising, 

On  that  day  when  in  each  quiver 
No  whole  arrow.     Thus  surprising, 

All  those  white  men  they  would  slaughter. 

Not  so  thought  White  Apple's  daughter. 


60  SWEET  ALYSSUM. 

From  the  fortress  twelve  miles  southward 

Stood  her  father's  tribal  village, 
Fairest  spot  among  the  Natchez, 

Made  more  fair  by  care  and  tillage. 
There  the  young  braves  met  most  often 
For  Stel-o-na's  charms  might  soften 

Heart  most  savage.     Stood  those  wigwams 
On  the  hillside,  groves  behind  them 

Of  the  walnut,  oak,  magnolia, 

'Mid  whose  branches  wild  vines  twined  them. 

Round  it  ran  a  laughing  clear  creek; 

Fair  the  maid  those  braves  would  there  seek. 

Like  ripe  chestnut-burr  just  bursting, 
Shone  her  bright  eye  neath  its  lid; 

Sweet  her  presence  as  the  pine-grove 
When  dim  twilight  day  has  hid; 

No  vine  rivalled  her  in  wild  grace, 

Must  she  love  the  treacherous  pale-face  ? 

Said  De  Mace,  the  girl's  French  lover, 
"  Twenty  days  your  chiefs  are  granted 

Ere  they  leave  their  happy  homesteads 
Crops  that  their  own  hands  have  planted." 

"Twenty  days,"  she  answered  sighing, 

"  Then  will  white  men  all  be  dying." 

So  she  gave  him  the  dread  secret, 
But  they  heard  with  scorn  his  story, 

Placed  the  young  man  in  confinement. 
Blind  those  Frenchman  with  vain  glory, 

To  the  temple  then,  at  midnight, 

Stole  Stel-o-na  through  the  moonlight, 


THE  BROKEN  ARROWS.  61 

Passed  the  guard  who  never  hailed  her, 
For  he  knew  the  chieftain's  daughter 

Though  her  long  dark  hair  well  veiled  her, 
Cared  he  not  what  errand  brought  her. 

From  the  roof,  the  painted  eagles 

Stared  like  three  blood-thirsty  beagles. 

Passed  the  enclosing  fence  of  pickets, 
From  each  stake  a  skull  was  grinning, 

Skulls  of  foemen  slain  in  conflict; 
Thus  the  maid,  her  entrance  winning, 

Stood  beside  the  fire  undying 

Where  those  fatal  arrows  were  lying. 

Few  were  left,  for  onward  marching 

Those  brave  allies  to  assist  them; 
Should  these  come  the  others  joining, 

Vain  were  white  men  to  resist  them; 
Arrows  twain,  in  haste  then  taking, 
Broke  the  maid;  thus  earlier  making 

For  her  tribe  the  bloody  signal. 

So,  before  their  friends  could  reach  them 
By  swift  march,  they  rose  in  conflict. 

Rose  on  those  white  men  to  teach  them 
How  the  Natchez  now  were  stronger, 
Much  had  borne,  would  bear  no  longer. 

Slain  then  many  a  gallant  Frenchman 

Fre  the  danger  they  discover, 
Slain  De  Mace,  and  true  Stel-o-na 

Perished  there  with  her  French  lover. 
But  the  Natchez  power  was  broken, 
False  were  their  allies  to  the  token! 


62  51  WEE  T  AL  YSSUM. 


A  CHEROKEE  ROSE. 

THIS  morn  there  opened  in  yon  close-grown 
hedge 
Of  glossy  green,  that  'mid  brown  fields  of  sedge 

And  barren  boughs  through  winter  gave  us  cheer, 
Five  heart-shaped  petals,  cream-laid,  white  as  snow; 
Wide  ope'd  that  the  large  golden  eye  might  show, 
As  our  field  daisies  shine  when  skies  are  clear. 

Pure  pointed  buds  pierced  the  encircling  green, 
The  tender  violets  bowed  as  to  their  queen, 

Bright  jasmine  gaily  yellow  love  knots  tied; 
And  from  the  gulf  a  breeze  bore  fragrance  sweet, 
Tribute  of  orange  groves,  wherewith  to  greet, 

This  Cherokee,  we  name  Sequoyah's  bride. 

Forgot  the  chief?    Nay,  where  cold  glaciers  gleam 
Far    up    the   snow-clad    height,    whose  mountain 
stream, 

With  roaring  torrent,  dashes  in  wild  glee, 
Its  crystal  spray  to  meet  the  pale  green  dome 
Of  feathery  boughs.     There  in  its  fitting  home, 

See  the  Sequoia,  giant  redwood  tree! 

Far  fitter  this,  than  carved  and  fretted  stone, 
His  memory  to  enshrine  who  toiled  alone, 

From  savage,  warlike  aims  the  tribe  to  free, 
Letters  he  gave  them,  whence  spread  learning's  ray, 
Home-love  and  arts  of  peace  until  this  day. 
Noblest  of  Red  men  now,  the  Cherokee. 


SOUER  MARGUERITE.  63 


SOEUR   MARGUERITE. 

PERHAPS  you  remember  Soeur  Marguerite  ? 
She  has  gone  to  the  saints  and  the  virgin  blest 
Whom  she  served  so  well,  for  there  ne'er  confessed 
A  purer  soul,  Pere  Antoine  would  say, 
When  at  matins  and  vespers  she  knelt  to  pray. 
Ah!  we  knew  her  then  but  as  maiden  sweet, 
Like  our  Lady  of  Sorrows  grew  Marguerite. 

The  orphan  was  placed  at  our  convent  when 
Her  aunt  went  abroad,  and  her  home  was  there 
For  seven  long  years.     'Neath  the  tender  care 
Of  the  Sacred  Heart  and  its  sisterhood 
Marguerite  studied  and  grew  both  wise  and  good, 
But  untaught  in  the  ways  and  wiles  of  men; 
For  of  what  avail  was  such  knowledge  then? 

A  learned  maid  and  right  skilled  was  she, 
Could  from  memory  say  near  her  missal  through, 
And  the  life  of  each  blessed  saint  she  knew; 
Of  noted  events  would  right  dates  declare, 
Talked  of  places  and  products  everywhere; 
Three  languages  spoke  with  great  fluency, 
But  the  dear  child's  forte  was  embroidery. 

Why,  the  flowers  would  grow  as  'neath  midday  sun 
When  her  little  white  fingers  her  needle  drew, 
In  satin  or  cross  stitch  the  canvas  through! 
She  made  finest  lace,  and  would  darn  so  well 
That  the  keenest  eye  scarce  a  flaw  could  tell. 
Oft  would  say:     "  When  my  school  girl  life  is  done, 
I  will  take  the  vows  and  live  here,  a  nun." 


64  SWEET  ALYSSUM. 

On  her  fete  day  Marguerite  was  seventeen, 
Then  the  uncle  and  aunt  all  at  once  appear; 
They  will  take  her  their  city  home  to  share. 
She  wept  and  she  prayed:     "  Let  me  soon  return." 
But  the  guardians,  angered  her  wish  to  learn, 
Said  they  soon  would  the  child  from  such  folly  wean, 
When  she  New  Orleans  with  its  life  had  seen. 

But  her  love  for  the  Sacred  Heart  was  strong. 
Marguerite  ne'er  failed,  'mid  that  life  so  gay, 
To  send  us  a  letter  on  every  sixth  day. 
Opera  music  was  grand,  and  she  loved  to  dance, 
But  still  felt  too  shy  at  the  stranger's  glance; 
Some  novels  she  read,  and — was  it  so  wrong  ? 
For  a  love  of  her  own  she  began  to  long. 

To  St.  Roch's  she  walked  the  right  number  of  days> 
In  his  ivy-grown  chapel  her  candle  had  burned, 
Bought  a  little  St.  Joseph.     Then  soon  we  learned 
What  she  wished  for  had  come — not  one  lover,  but 

ten. 

And  she  all  untaught  in  the  follies  of  men, 
With  their  flattering  tongues  and  their  worldly-wise 

ways, 
Would  accept  as  a  truth  each  light  word  of  praise. 

And  the  one  that  she  chose  in  true  worth  was  least, 
But  handsome  and  gay,  and  his  suit  so  bold 
That  the  innocent  maid  could  not  long  be  cold. 
He  was  clever  and  rich,  so  both  guardians  bent 
An  approving  smile  when  they  sought  consent. 
We  sent  her  a  wreath  that  the  dear  old  priest 
Had  blessed.  They  left  home,  and  all  tidings  ceased. 


SOUER  MARGUERITE.  65 

When  fourteen  years  passed,  to  the  gate  there  came 

A  woman  pale,  sad,  whom  no  sister  knew. 

Her  hair  was  gray,  but  the  eyes  so  blue 

Were  large  and  clear.     Then  one,  entering,  said: 

"This  is  Marguerite,  we  have  mourned  as  dead." 

And  at  once  we  saw  that  sweet  soul  the  same, 

Through  the  sunken  cheek  and  the  shrinking  frame. 

Her  husband  had  ways  that  no  wife  could  brook, 

So  she  left  him  alone  to  his  wine  and  his  play, 

And  their  only  child  he  had  stolen  away. 

Search  in  vain  for  her  daughter,  both  far  and  near. 

So  the  mother  at  last  sought  a  refuge  here; 

She  lived  with  us  then,  and  the  vows  soon  took — 

You  remember  her  eager,  questioning  look? 

'Tis  strange,  she  would  gaze  the  most  earnestly 
At  each  girl  that  seemed  near  the  age  of  ten, 
Though  some  sixteen  years  was  her  daughter  then, 
Friends  gave  their  aid,  we  renewed  the  quest, 
And  found  her  at  last,  holy  saints  be  blessed! 
Yonder  fair-haired,  blue-eyed  girl  you  see, 
Please  the  Virgin,  a  nun  shall  this  Marguerite  be. 


66  SWEET  ALYSSUM. 


THE  JOGGLING-BOARD. 


YOUR  terraced  town  by  Centennial  Lake,* 
"City  " — beg  pardon,  friend, 
I  like  full  well,  though  one's  breath  'twill  take 

Just  climbing  from  end  to  end. 
In  street  or  home,  I  have  nothing  seen, 
With  such  pleasant  memories  stored, 
As  yon  well  kept  lawn,  so  smooth  and  green, 
And  that  bright  red  joggling  board. 


My  childhood's  friend!     In  infant  days, 

A  cradle,  where  soon  and  late, 
Maum'  Sabra  sat  singing  quaint  old  lays, 

In  the  dear  Palmetto  State; 
Then,  in  after  years,  young  playmates  came 

When  the  board  would  bend  and  spring, 
With  a  joyous  bound  'neath  each  childish  frame, 

Our  shouts  made  the  echoes  ring. 


There  was  one,  a  girl.     She  only  nine, 

While  I  was  "going-on"  ten, 
Whose  seat  somehow  was  oft  nearest  mine, 

And,  as  often,  it  happened  when 
For  greater  fun  all  agreed  to  stand, 

Not  easy  to  balance  so, 
I  would  seize  and  keep  my  neighbor's  hand, 

And  she  never  murmured  "  No." 


THE  JO G GLING-BOARD.  67 

A  college  lad,  then,  abroad  I  roam 

To  return  a  S.  T.  B. 
And  the  sweetest  vision  of  coming  home 

Was  that  neighbor  I  longed  to  see. 
I  found  her,  my  simple  blue-eyed  girl, 

The  belle  of  our  native  town. 
When  I  left  she  gave  me  a  golden  curl, 

Now,  her  hair  was  chestnut  brown. 

One  evening,  eager  to  learn  my  fate, 

I  paused  at  the  gate  and  said, 
"  Shall  we  take  a  draft  at  the  old  well,  Kate, 

For  the  sake  of  days  that  are  fled  ? ' ' 
Soft  she  answered,  "  Yes."     No  cup  we  brought, 

Naught  so  sweet  as  the  good,  old  gourd; 
All  yet  unsaid,  then — happy  thought — 

"Let  us  sit  on  the  joggling-board." 

For  there  it  stood,  and  right  down  we  sat, 

But  no  joggle,  no  hand  in  hand; 
She,  demure  and  distant;   I,  finding  that 

Not  a  word  could  my  voice  command. 
It  was  Kate  herself,  who  the  silence  broke 

With  some  thought  of  the  childish  days. 
Her  tone  was  sad.     Then  I  quickly  spoke, 

"Oh,  could  we  thus  stand  always! 

"  As  we  stood  in  the  happy  days  of  old, 

My  hand  still  clasping  yours, 
And  joggle  through  life  " — when  once  'tis  told 

How  the  heart  all  its  love  outpours! 
A  gentle  start  and  an  awkward  spring 

From  the  board — you  suppose  she  fell  ? 
Why,  what  should  a  man  then  do  but  fling 

His  right  arm  around  her  ?    Well, 


68  SWEE  T  AL  YSSUM. 

You  know  the  rest,  for  you've  seen  my  wife. 

Is  not  Tom  a  splendid  boy  ? 
Young  man,  there  is  nothing  like  married  life — 

He's  so  pleased  with  that  new  toy — 
Our  girl  will  be  ten  the  coming  year, 

Like  her  mother  with  youth  restored, 
She  is  coming  at  last;  see,  Kate,  my  dear, 

Here's  a  genuine  joggling-board! 


THE  CHINA  TREE.  69 


THE  CHINA   TREE. 


AMID  the  groves  of  our  Southern  land, 
More  broad  to  spread  and  more  firm  to  stand 
And  fairer  of  form  we  see, 
Magnolia  shining  with  chaliced  bloom, 
Green  oak  and  grave  cypress,  type  of  gloom, 
But  I'll  sing  the  China  Tree. 

When  the  settler  comes  and  a  clearing  makes, 
He  smooths  the  ground  and  he  drives  his  stakes 

Where  the  future  abode  must  be; 
But  before  a  plank  of  the  floor  be  laid 
He  will  plant  all  around,  for  a  pleasant  shade, 

The  swift-growing  China  Tree. 

Not  the  spreading  beech,  'twill  uproot  the  grass, 
Not  the  oak  that  allows  no  sun  to  pass 

When  dark  winter  days  must  be. 
Cedar  nor  pine,  for  they  both  will  wear 
Such  seedy  coats  through  the  closing  year; 

Choose  the  cheerful  China  Tree. 

Now  the  house  is  built,  two  years  are  flown, 
And  to  stately  height  has  the  sapling  grown, 

Green  feathery  tufts  bears  he; 
With  spring  we  hear  murmuring  of  the  bees, 
They  busily  hum  as  sweets  they  seize 

From  the  honey-bloomed  China  Tree. 


70  SWEET  ALYSSUM. 

Then  come  baby  Bessie  and  maiden  May 
Beneath  its  cool  shade  on  the  grass  to  play, 

Now  each  has  a  necklace,  see; 
What  need  of  coral  or  beads  of  glass  ? 
When  a  string  through  the  purple  flowers  they  pass, 

Lilac  tubes  of  the  China  Tree! 

Green  berries  are  here  for  the  bloom  is  fled, 
And  that  shedding  time  is  the  housewife's  dread; 

Where  can  Warren  and  Thomas  be  ? 
A  pop  gun  souds;  Don't  you  hear  the  noise? 
A  jolly  time  you  are  having  my  boys, 

Up  there  in  the  China  Tree. 

Sad  Autumn  now  with  soft  tinted  skies, 

All  her  bright  hues  saved  for  the  woodland  dyes; 

Yet  with  liberal  hand  doth  she 
Bring  the  primrose  suit  for  our  friend  to  wear, 
No  Gum  nor  Sumac  looks  gayer  there 

Than  this  yellow-plumed  China  Tree. 

All  have  left  it  at  last,  even  withered  leaves, 
But  the  dry  brown  berry  in  bunches  cleaves 

Where  blossoms  were  wont  to  be. 
And  whenever  there  comes  a  winter  rain, 
Over  each  little  ball  will  a  drop  remain, 

On  the  brown-berried  China  Tree. 

They  shine  in  the  sun  and  he  colors  them,  too, 
With  rainbow  tints,  as  his  rays  pierce  through; 

'Tis  a  glorious  sight  to  see. 
It  is  time  to  rest,  with  your  year's  work  done, 
So  sparkle  you  may,  in  the  winter  sun, 

Oh,  jewel-hung  China  Tree! 


OUR  MARGARET.  71 


OUR  MARGARET. 

ONE    summer  morn,  from   dreamless   sleep    I 
woke, 

In  a  fair  vale  where  winds  the  Roanoke, 
And  sought  the  field.     There  early   spiders  spun 
Their  gauzy  snares,  that  sparkled  in  the  sun 
With  dewdrops  caught  where  wanton  flies  should  be, 
Which  ox-eyed  daisies  gaily  smiled  to  see. 
These,  all  unlike  their  English  sisters  shy, 
That  greet  the  dawn  with  blushing  lid  and  eye 
Half-closed,  oped  wide  their  pure  white  rays, 
And  met  the  glowing  orb  with  steady  gaze. 
Upon  a  rock  that  offered  friendly  rest, 
Then  sitting  down,  my  rustic  hat  I  dressed 
With  daisies  bright,  and  plucking,  idly  thought 
Of  Goethe's  Marguerite;  soon  fancy  brought 
Visions  of  women  who  have  borne  that  name, 
Whose  praise  still  lingers  on  the  lips  of  fame. 
At  ancient  Antioch,  see,  in  dungeon  cast 
A  Roman  maid.     "  Deny  this  Christ!  "  they  cry, 
"Recant!  Recant!     Adore  the  gods,  or  die!  " 
"Then  welcome  Death!  "     She  glories  in  the  flame, 
And  legends  say  this  flower  received  her  name. 

Years  roll  away;  now,  wrecked  on  Scotia's  shore, 
An  English  bark.     The  Saxon  hope  it  bore; 
For  friendly  Fate  the  Atheling's  sister  leads 
To  Malcolm's  arms,  and  sows,  through  her,  the  seeds 
Of  Christian  lore  amid  these  mountains  wild. 
In  Norway  next,  I  see  Valdemar's  child 


72  SWEE  T  AL  YSSUM. 

Three  kingdoms  join.     Alas!  twas  all  in  vain 
Your  noble  work,  great  Daughter  of  the  Dane! 
Wearing  a  sweet  rose  stained  with  bloody  strife, 
Poor  guiltless  flower!  comes  Henry's  warrior  wife. 
The  struggling  Church  seeks  shelter  in  Navarre 
With  Francis'  sister,  Angouleme's  bright  star, 
And  free  Italia,  'mid  her  vineyards  green, 
Bows  loyally  to  Humbert's  lovely  queen. 
Thus,  one  by  one,  the  shadows  come  and  go, 
As  memory  moves  the  mirror  to  and  fro. 
Wearied  at  length  of  courtly  pomp  and  pride, 
"  Now  bear  me  home,"  to  Fantasy  I  cried. 
"There,    well   I   know,  some   dainty   Marguerites 

dwell, 

Pure  pearls,  that  all  these  radiant  gems  excel!  " 
Smiling,  she  led  me  to  my  own  sweet  South, 
Where  Miche  Sepe  seeks,  through  many  a  month, 
The  Atlantic  sea. 

There  a  fair  city  lies, 

'Mid  orange  groves,  beneath  the  sunniest  skies. 
I  saw  one  moving  through  the  bustling  street, 
A  form  each  passer  gladly  paused  to  greet. 
No  crown  she  wore,  no  aureole  of  saint 
Shone  round  her  head,  no  artist  sought  to  paint 
That  homely  face.     Her  simple  words  declared 
No  mental  worth,  nor  flash  of  wit  appeared. 
WhaUihen,  her  charm  ?    What  this  strange  woman's 

"spell? 

The  needy  know,  the  orphan  child  can  tell. 
Of  lowly  birth,  still  truest  lady  she, 
In  Saxon  style,  and  all  humanity 
Her  household  was,  for  loaves  she  gave  to  all. 
The  poor  and  suffering  never  yet  did  call 


OUR  MARGARET.  73 

In  vain  to  her.     The  struggling  parish  church; 
The  widow's  friend;  those  who,  to  succor,  search 
The  homes  of  want;  they  who  their  pure  lives  spend 
Soothing  the  sick,  or  gently  rear  or  tend 
The  motherless;  all  sought  this  woman's  aid. 
She  gave  them  bread,  for  'twas  by  bread  she  made 
The  means  to  live,  and  these  poor  brethren  raise. 
Woman  of  wealth,  a  worker  all  her  days! 

I  looked  again,  that  form  no  more  appeared; 
But,  in  the  city's  midst,  I  saw,  upreared, 
A  sculptured  stone  and  that  strange  marble  bore 
No  hero's  form,  but  seated  as  of  yore 
Knitting  in  hand,  a  leaning  orphan  near, 
Margaret  the  Good  seems  ever  smiling  there. 


74  SWEET  ALYSSUM. 


THE  ANGEL  OF  GETHSEMANE. 

LUKE   22:   43. 

THY    glory    great    as    Gabriel's,    when,    from 
heaven,  he  bore 

The  wondrous  tidings  of  a  Saviour's  birth, 
Or  princely  Michael's,  who,  in  conflict  sore, 

Met  and  o'ercame  the  Enemy  of  earth; 
Called  to  convey,  thou  blest,  unnamed  one, 
The  Father's  message  to  the  suffering  Son! 

Be  a  like  mission  mine,  to  seek  some  heart 

In  its  Gethsemane  of  sin  and  shame 
When  heaven  seems  lost,  when  friends  and  fame 

depart, 
Then,  whispering  peace,  hope,  pardon,  in  the 

Name 

Of  One  who  drank  that  cup,  e'en  from  the  brim, 
So  cheer  His  own,  as  thou  didst  strengthen  Him! 


FOR  MY  DEAR  LOVE.  75 


FOR  MY  DEAR  LOVE. 

AN   OPAL. 

FOR  my  dear  love  I  long  to  bring, 
Some  rare  and  dainty  offering; 
I'll  steal  a  rainbow  from  the  sky, 
To  paint  my  joy  when  she  is  nigh; 
The  fairness  of  her  form  to  sing, 
I'll  mount  me  on  a  poet's  wing; 
Through  winter  frost,  each  flower  of  spring 
Shall  speak  and  tell  her  how  I  sigh 
For  my  dear  love. 

Nay,  nay,  this  is  but  loitering; 
See,  here,  a  tiny  rounded  thing, 
Where  all  sweet  shades  imprisoned  lie, 
Her  blush,  the  flowers,  the  rainbow  sky 
Now,  I  will  set  this  in  a  ring, 
For  my  dear  love. 


76  SWEET  ALYSSUM. 


SUB  ROSA. 

I  WILL  tell  you  of  something  that  no  one  knows; 
Of  something  that  happened  under  the  rose. 
A  gay  little  bird  lighted  there  one  day, 
And  sang,  full  of  love,  a  roundelay; 
And  a  bud  just  peeped  from  its  sheath  of  green, 
To  listen  and  wonder  what  this  might  mean. 

"  When  he  comes  again,  in  the  twilight  dim," 
Said  the  bud,  "  I  will  open  my  heart  to  him." 
So  it  shook  its  petals  apart  and  blushed, 
Till  each  crumpled  fold  to  the  center  flushed, 
And  sweet  perfume  whispered  of  what  might  be 
When  the  bud  was  blown  from  its  calyx  free. 

But  the  bird  came  not;  there  were  fairer  flowers, 
And  buds  in  plenty  more  rare  than  ours, 
And,  ere  the  sun  on  the  dewdrops  shone, 
She  lay  drooping  and  dead,  a  bud  half  blown, 
That  might  never  its  perfumed  heart  disclose! 
I  have  told  you  what  happened  under  the  rose. 


A  MISTAKE.  77 


A  MISTAKE. 

BECAUSE  I  knew  she  loved  me, 
And  'twas  so  sweet  to  see  those  wistful 
eyes, 

Half-veiled  to  hide  their  secret  from  surprise, 
Aside  I  turned,  and,  with  a  courteous  care, 
Concealed  the  truth  from  her  I  held  most  dear, 
Because  I  knew  she  loved  me. 


I  know  she  must  have  loved  me! 
Yet,  when  at  last,  my  passion  all  confessed, 
I  sought  to  strain  the  dear  one  to  my  breast, 
"Nay,   nay,"   she  smiling,   said:    "too  late,   too 

late," 
Then  showed  another's  ring.     Ah,  cruel  fate! 

And  yet,  I  know  she  loved  me. 


78  SWEET  ALYSSUM. 


THE  LOST   MAGNIFICAT. 

«T  HEARD  not  Our  Lady's  song,  to-night." 
1     In  sad  reproach,  the  vision  spoke, 
And  the  blissful  dream  of  the  chorister  broke, 

Who  joyed  at  the  heavenly  sight. 

'Twas  in  an  abbey  of  ancient  day, 

Where  the  pious  monks  in  their  simple  way, 
Would  at  Angelus  often  sing, 

The  Magnificat,  that  glorious  hymn. 

Sweet  would  it  sound  through  the  cloister  dim 
And  amid  the  old  arches  ring. 

It  chanced  one  day  that  a  stranger  came 
Journeying  by  from  some  town  of  fame; 

A  skilled  musician  was  he, 
With  voice  well-trained  high  notes  to  trill, 
And  the  deepest  tones  of  the  bass  to  fill, 

Sure  ne'er  was  such  melody! 

Our  pious  mcnks  had  no  envy;  they 
To  each  other  said,  in  their  simple  way, 

"Ah,  now  for  once,  our  favorite  hymn, 
Shall  be  fitly  sung."     So  they  seek  the  guest 
And  gladly  he  grants,  as  they  request, 

Then,  when  twilight  gathered  dim, 

He  led  them  in  the  Magnificat, 
With  a  well-trained  voice — Remember  that! — 
And  each  note  gave  cadence  true. 


THE  LOST  MAGNIFICAT.  79 

But  his  thoughts!     "  How  these  rustic  folk  do 

stare, 

Such  singing  to  them  may  be  something  rare, 
I  must  show  them  what  I  can  do." 

Now  other  singers  in  awe  are  still, 

For  that  wonderful  voice  seems  the  space  to  fill. 
Yet  the  words! — Not  one  they  hear. 

He  sings,  they  listen,  with  one  accord, 

But  no  spirit  "doth  magnify  the  Lord." 
No  sound  soars  to  Heaven's  high  Ear. 

Father  Francis  hastened  into  his  cell 
Alone  on  the  wondrous  strains  to  dwell, 

For  song  was  his  soul's  delight. 
When,  sudden,  the  chamber  dark  and  still, 
Some  presence  seemed  to  enter  and  fill 

With  a  radiance  clear  and  bright. 

He  bowed  his  head;  "had  the  Mother  heard, 
And  a  message  of  special  grace  conferred 

So  soon  by  an  Angel  sent  ?  " 

Ah!  no;  for  sad  spake  the  vision  bright, 
"I  heard  not  Our  Lady's  song,  to-night, 

For  sweet  at  the  sun's  descent. 


When  your  hearts  in  their  humble  tribute  blend, 
Each  eve  that  hymn  doth  to  heaven  ascend; 

Yet  pride  would  retard  its  flight. 

Your  stranger  guest,  he  sang  loud  and  well, 
But  each  soaring  note  ever  earthward  fell, 

So  we  heard  not  your  song  to-night." 


So  SWEET  ALYSSUM. 

Then  glad  and  thankful  each  after  day, 

Our  monks  sang  their  hymns  in  the  same  old  way, 
Though  no  wonderful  voice  was  there, 

Through  the  treble  and  bass  to  quaver  and  trill; 

Their  grateful  hearts  could  the  measure  fill, 
Make  it  meet  for  the  Master's  ear. 


THE    WINNING    WAY.  81 


THE  WINNING  WAY. 

«  T  WILL  conquer  this  iron!  "  the  sharp  axe  said, 

1     And  with  whack,  whack,  whack, 
Gave  blow  after  blow  that  fell  heavy  as  lead; 
But  the  bar  of  iron  lay  cold,  black  and  dead, 
Seeming  never  the  worse  for  the  sturdiest  hack. 
And  the  edge  of  the  axe  at  last  grew  so  blunt, 
That  he  gave  up  the  strife  with  a  weary  grunt. 

"  Now  leave  it  to  me!  "  his  bright  neighbor  cried, 
And  with  saw,  saw,  saw, 

He  moved  backward  and  forward  from  side  to  side; 
Ah!  never  so  well  had  his  temper  been  tried, 
For  the  motionless  iron  would  show  not  a  flaw. 
But  its  tormentor's  teeth,  soon  grew  broken  and 

worn, 
And,   "I  fear  'tis  in  vain,"  he  exclaimed  with  a 

groan. 

"Make  way,"  said  the  hammer,   "Let  me  give  a 

knock! " 

With  a  Ha!  Ha!  He! 

But  he  lost  his  head  at  the  very  first  shock, 
It  flew  off  and  lodged  in  an  old  wooden  block, 
For  the  iron  was  too  hard  for  that,  you  must  see. 
When  the  three  stood  aside  and  were  blushing  for 

shame, 
"  Will  you  please  let  me  try,"  said  the  gentle  flame. 


82  5 WEE T  AL  YSSUM. 

With  a  scornful  laugh,  they  all  gave  her  place, 
And  she  curled,  curled,  curled, 
Round  the  hard  black  bar,  with  a  fiery  grace, 
'Till  it  melted  and  glowed  in  the  soft  warm  embrace; 
Just  as  cold  hearts  are  conquered   by  love  in  the 

world. 

And  the  callous  and  dull  oft'  by  courtesy  we  gain, 
When  the  unkind  and  rude  all  have  striven  in  vain. 


PHARAOH'S  DAUGHTER.  83 


PHARAOH'S  DAUGHTER. 

"Take  this  child  and  nurse  it  for  me,  and  I  will  give  thee  thy 
wages." 

QUEENLY  daughter  of  the  Nile, 
At  whose  changing  frown  or  smile, 
Thousands  joy  or  fear; 
Dost  thou  gaze  with  pity  mild 
On  the  outcast  Hebrew  child, 
On  the  orphan's  tear  ? 

Vain  the  monarchs  of  thy  race 
Strive  with  pyramids  to  grace 

Future  rolls  of  fame. 
More  than  all  their  works  of  art, 
In  this  deed  thy  woman's  heart 

Hath  embalmed  thy  name. 

Daughters  of  a  Christian  land, 
Outcast  babes  on  every  hand, 

Look  around  and  see; 
Shall,  while  thus  a  heathen  shows 
Pity  for  an  infant's  woes, 

Thou  unmovdd  be  ? 

Colder  than  the  Nilus  wave, 
Drearer  than  a  wat'ry  grave, 

Earth  with  evil  dark; 
Many  human  monsters  vile, 
Fiercer  than  the  crocodile, 

Wait  each  little  bark. 


84  SWEET  ALYSSUM. 

Idlers  in  a  fruitful  land, 
Will  ye  in  the  market  stand, 

Waiting  to  be  hired  ? 
Are  ye  not  already  bought  ? 
Christ  for  you  the  conflict  fought, 

On  the  tree  expired. 

Come,  if  at  the  eleventh  hour, 
Ere  your  life,  as  faded  flower, 

Sees  its  setting  sun. 

What  though  others  long  have  wrought ! 
Rich  reward  your  work  hath  brought, 

So  it  well  be  done. 

Hast  thou  money  ?    Wages  give, 
So  through  others  they  may  live 

Free  from  tempting  need. 
Art  thou  poor  ?    A  word,  a  smile, 
Give  your  time — a  little  while 

Sows  eternal  seed. 

Then,  at  the  great  reck'ning  day, 
Shall  the  loving  Savior  say 

Gracious  words  to  thee; 
"As  ye  all  these  works  have  done, 
Fed  and  clothed  each  little  one, 

It  was  unto  me." 


L 


LIZZIE'S  PICTURE.  85 


LIZZIE'S  PICTURE. 

(E.  A.  B.  AGED  2  YEARS). 
IZZIE'S  photograph  they've  brought  me, 


Likeness  surely  hard  to  trace! 
How  could  any  golden  sunlight 

Picture  such  a  pearly  face  ? 
I've  no  artist's  glowing  palette 

Nor  the  sculptor's  chisel  rare; 
Yet  with  hues  that  love  hath  lent  me 

I  will  paint  your  portrait,  dear. 

First  the  brow,  pure  as  a  snowdrop 

Blooming  after  April  rain, 
But,  replacing  verdant  touches, 

Here  and  there  a  violet  stain, 
Then  the  cheeks  like  velvet  rose  leaves, 

White  like  Easter-lily's  bell, 
Save  where  dainty  little  flushes 

Baby  joys  and  sorrows  tell. 

Sweet  mouth  pursed,  a  bud  just  opening 

To  be  kissed  into  the  flower; 
Parted  then  its  smiles  disclosing 

Jewels  fit  for  queenly  dower. 
Hair  that  caught  its  gleam  from  morning 

Or  the  gladsome  harvest  moon, 
Fine  as  though  'twere  just  unravelled 

From  some  dainty  spun  cocoon, 

Eyes  above  whose  dreamy  azure, 
Snowy  lids  now  softly  creep, — 

Auntie  was  too  slow  and  prosy 
Baby  Lizzie's  fast  asleep! 


86  SWEET  ALYSSUM. 


THE  RIDE. 

TOSS  proudly  your  head,  my  beautiful  bay, 
And  canter  carefully  o'er  the  rough  way, 
For  fair  is  the  lady  that  tides  you; 
Fair  is  her  face,  though  dark  is  her  eye 
And  dark,  too,  her  hair  as  the  dim  midnight  sky, 
But  fair  are  the  fingers  that  guide  you! 

Does  she  know  when  she  strokes  you,  my  beautiful 

bay, 
When  she  touches  your  mane  in  that  exquisite  way, 

How  my  heart  with  envy  is  throbbing? 
That,  while  o'er  these  lovely  meadows  I  ride 
Through  sunshine  and  shadow  so  close  to  her  side, 

All  my  peace  of  mind  she  is  robbing? 

She  says  that  she  loves  you,  my  beautiful  bay, 
That  you  bear  her  so  carefully  o'er  the  rough  way 

And  answer  so  well  when  she  guides  you; 
Oh!  what  would  she  say  if  I  told  her  that  I, 
Would  as  willingly  yield  to  be  guided  by 

The  fair  little  lady  that  rides  you! 


MICHAELMAS.  87 


MICHAELMAS. 

"  To  the  pure  heart  every  home  is  a  Bethel,  and  every  path  of 
life  a  Penuel,  and  a  Mahanaim."  REV.  F.  W.  FARRAR. 

MORN  early  morn!  From  every  home  around 
Comes  cheerful  echo;  yet  no  answering  sound 
Heard  from  the  village  church, 

No  organ  peal,  no  hymn  to  greet  the  day; 
'Till  on  the  tower,  we  see  a  bird  alight 
There,  resting  from  his  flight 
Beside  the  cross,  he  sings  a  matin  lay. 

A  small  gray  bird,  dim  as  the  dawn  in  hue, 
Embodied  air;  Air  breathing  through  and  through 
Each  dainty  plumed  quill, 

And  as  he  sings,  forth  from  that  slender  throat 
The  voices  of  the  wind,  all,  seem  to  flow 
In  cadence  soft  and  low, 

Or  in  a  quaver  shrill,  or  lingering  note. 

"  Venite,"  "Te  Deum,"  how  shall  we  word  the  lay? 
We  praise  Thee,  Lord,  as  angels  do  alway; 
'Tisdone;  "Amen!"  "Amen!"  "Amen!" 

Tracing  that  flight  amid  the  encircling  blue 
We  still  soar  on,  in  thought,  and  pierce  the  skies 
'Till  to  our  longing  eyes, 

Visions  of  winged  things  seen  wafted  through. 

Visions  like  those  to  the  Apostle  shown; 
The  six-winged  seraphim  around  the  throne, 
The  creatures  mid  the  wheels, 


88  SWEE T  AL  YSSUM. 

The  princely  Michael,  and  his  warriors  bright, 
And  Gabriel,  with  those  whose  blesse'd  place 
Is  near  the  Father's  face, 

Because  Christ's  little  ones  they  guide  aright. 

"  I  am  thy  fellow  servant,  worship  God," 
We  heed  that  warning  in  the  sacred  word, 
Yet  on  this  chosen  day. 

Would  search  the  record  of  your  blest  employ, 
Ye  shining  guardians,  who  befriend  us  still; 
Working  the  Maker's  will; 

E'en  since  the  hour  ye  hailed  with  shouts  of  joy. 

This  new-made  world.    Angels  how  oft  appear 
To  Abraham,  Jacob — Lot  would  loiter  near 
Sodom's  accursed  plain, 

They  seize  his  hand  and  draw  him  from  the  doom; 
They,  in  the  wilderness,  sad  Hagar  cheer 
And  show  her  water  near; 

And  when  Elijah  sleeps  o'ercome  with  gloom; 

One  brings  him  food,  standing  in  Baalim's  path, 
An  angel  with  drawn  sword  proclaims  God's  wrath, 
Because  he  goes  to  curse, 

The  chosen  race.    But,  gladlier  from  on  high, 
To  serve  the  Incarnate  One  ye  did  descend 
And  all  His  ways  attend; 

No  ladder  needed  then  'tvvixt  earth  and  sky! 

And  is  the  vision  sealed  ?  Nay,  grown  more  near! 
Unto  the  pure  in  heart,  will  still  appear 
God's  angels  here  below, 


MICHAELMAS.  89 

Where  Love,  Hope,  Faith,  abide,  they  smiling 

stand 

They  take  no  outward  form  yet  such  may  feel 
That  presence  o'er  them  steal; 

The  hosts  of  heaven  are,  here,  on  every  hand. 

As  in  Samaria,  when  the  prophet  prayed; 
His  fearful  follower  by  that  prayer  was  made, 
With  open  eyes  to  see, 

God's  chariots  encompassed  them  around, — 
An  angel  struggles  with  each  thought  of  ill 
And  heaven  re-echoes  still 

Whene'er  a  wandering  soul  the  path  has  found. 


90  SWEET  ALYSSUM. 


"THE  WITNESS  OF  NINEVEH." 

"  So  the  people  of  Nineveh  believed  God  and  proclaimed  a 
fast."— JONAH  3-5. 

"  The  men  of  Nineveh  shall  rise  in  judgment  with  this  gen 
eration  and  shall  condemn  it." — ST.  MATTHKW  12-40. 

IN  Pul's  great  city  there  is  feasting. 
For  now  the  mighty  king  puts  by  his  state; 
Beloved  of  Bel,  True  son  of  Nin  the  Great, 
His  royal  crown  and  sceptre  laid  aside, 
He  sits  amond  his  lords,  the  nation's  pride. 
All  garlanded  with  wreaths  of  fairest  flowers, 
In  song  and  wine  they  pass  the  careless  hours. 

All  through  the  city  there  is  feasting. 

The  gods  around  in  bronze  and  ivory  gleam, 

No  word  have  they  to  break  the  festive  dream. 

To  guard  the  gate,  the  winged  lions  stand, 

No  incense  offered  there  by  pious  hand, 

JNo  hymns  of  praise  the  sacred  symbols  greet, 

And  lust  and  crime  run  riot  in  the  street. 

"Yet  forty  days  and  Nineveh  shall  fall!  " 

What  harsh  note  mars  their  sweetest  song  ? 

What  man   is  this  that  breaks  through  that  gay 

throng? 

Shrieking  his  fearful  burden  on  before, 
"  Yet  forty  days  and  all  shall  be  no  more, 
Thus  speaks  the  great  Jehovah,  God  most  high, 
A  ruined  heap,  proud  Nineveh  shall  lie." 


1 '  THE  WITNESS  OF  NINE  VEH. "        91 

Now,  all  through  the  great  city  there  is  mourning, 
Thus  spake  the  king,  for  God  had  moved  his  heart, 
"  Let  every  soul  withdraw  himself  apart, 
For  all  have  sinned.     We,  lifted  up  with  pride, 
Our  Gods  their  worship  due  have  long  denied; 
And,  most  of  all,  do  they  abhor  the  proud; 
Now  mourn,  and  weep,  and  cry  to  them  aloud. 

"  Cry,  too,  unto  the  Hebrew  God,  for  he 
Is  great.     He  led  his  people  through  the  sea, 
Have  we  not  heard  ?    And  how  he  overthrew 
Great  kingdoms;  how  their  enemies  he  slew? 
Yet  he  is  merciful,  he  loveth  not  to  curse. 
Haste  now,  to  him  your  penitence  rehearse, 
Call  humbly  on  the  Gods  and  mostly  cry, 
Have  mercy,  Great  Jehovah,  God  most  high!  " 

In  each  street  of  the  great  city  there  is  mourning, 

Not  men  alone,  but  beasts  must  sack-cloth  wear. 

And  ashes  now,  not  roses  deck  the  hair; 

No  wine  they  take  nor  dainty  food,  scarce  bread 

May  any  eat,  for  so  the  king  has  said. 

And  king,  and  lords,  and  people  join  to  cry, 

"  Have  mercy,  Great  Jehovah,  God  most  high!  " 

In  each  home  of  the  great  city  there  is  mourning. 
The  children  ask,  "  How  long  before  that  day 
That  dreadful  time,  we  heard  the  Hebrew  say, 
Our  city  should  be  but  a  ruined  heap  ? " 
"Soon!  soon!  "  reply  the  mothers  as  they  weep, 
Ye  helpless  babes,  come  lend  your  voices,  cry, 
"  Have  mercy,  Great  Jehovah,  God  most  high!  " 


92  SWEET  ALYSSUM. 

Now  in  PuPs  city  there  is  gladness. 
'Tis  come,  'tis  passed,  that  dreaded,  dreadful  day! 
Their  prayer  is  heard,  God's  wrath  is  turned  away. 
And,  while  in  grateful  worship  they  rejoice, 
The  angry  prophet  hears,  far  off  that  Voice, 
"Thou  pitiest  a  weak  gourd  thou  didst  not  rear, 
Then  shall  not  I  this  glorious  city  spare  ?  " 


SEA- SHORE  CAMP-MEETING.         93 


SEA-SHORE  CAMP-MEETING. 

THE  days  since  you  left,  dear  Zuleika, 
So  slowly  and  sadly  had  passed, 
That  I  sighed  for  a  change,  when,  eureka! 
It  came  with  the  preacher,  at  last. 

Not  that  youngster,  tall  and  ungainly, 
Who  was  on  this  circuit  last  year, 

Whose  watery  eyes  strove,  so  vainly, 
To  extinguish  the  glow  of  his  hair. 

But  a  neat,  little  elderly  person, 
And  though  prematurely  I  grant, 

My  heart  sprang  to  brother  McPherson, 
When  he  spoke  of  camp-meeting  to  Aunt. 

Peggie  Jones  went  the  Sunday  before, 
The  Smiths  must  be  then  on  the  way, 

And  we  both  never  ceased  to  implore, 
'Till  she  promised  to  start  the  next  day. 

So  I  smoothed  out  my  pink  muslin  gown, 
And  looped  it  up,  this  way  and  that, 

And  twisted  my  ancient  sundown, 
Into  quite  an  a  la  mode  hat. 

The  sun  was  just  over  the  trees, 
All  aglow  for  his  diurnal  round, 

When  we  felt  the  first  kiss  of  the  breeze, 
And  saw  the  blue  waves  of  the  Sound. 


94  SWEE  T  AL  YSSUM. 

In  a  grove  where  green  branches  obstructed 
The  ardor  of  midsummer  rays, 

Were  the  tents — neat  cabins  constructed 
On  the  model  of  Mr.  Carry's. 

The  chapel,  a  shed  in  the  centre, 

Supported  by  numerous  posts, 
A  bugle  now  called  us  to  enter, 

With  sounds  that  might  waken  the  ghosts. 

Here  were  hundreds  of  people  collected, 
From  the  City,  the  Bay,  and  the  Pass; 

And  to  many  a  stare  was  subjected, 
Your  poor  little  piney  woods  lass. 

The  singing,  my  dear,  was  just  splendid! 

Not  a  choir  with  opera  airs, 
Each  voice  with  the  melody  blended, 

And  then  came  the  longest  of  prayers. 

We  prayed  for  the  hardened,  the  contrite, 
The  wounded,  the  sick,  and  the  sore; 

And  that,  vilest  of  all,  might  be  pardoned, 
The  sinners  along  the  seashore. 

Then  a  brother  stood  up  to  exhort  us, 
I  heard  not  his  place  or  his  name, 

But  I  know  the  blest  truths  that  he  taught  us 
From  the  holy  book  certainly  came. 

His  topic  was  "Self-Consecration," 
Of  forsaking  the  pleasures  of  life, 

And  I  thought,  ere  he  paused,  my  vocation, 
Was  to  be  a  poor  minister's  wife. 


SEA-SHORE  CAMP-MEETING.        95 

Just  then,  through  the  crowd,  what  should  greet 
me, 

But  the  glance  of  a  clear  hazel  eye! 
And  I  knew  who  had  come  there  to  meet  me, 

That  my  own  Johnny  Thompson  was  nigh. 

Oh!  long,  at  the  noon,  did  we  linger 
In  the  shade  near  the  mineral  spring, 

'Twas  there  he  placed  on  my  finger, 
This  dear  little  emerald  ring. 

And  I  thought  that  night,  ere  I  slumbered, 

Perhaps  as  a  true,  loving  wife, 
I  might  with  the  chosen  be  numbered, 

Although  not  a  martyr  for  life. 

But  sleep  overcame  me  ere  seeming 

This  question,  so  hard,  to  decide, 
And  I  wakened  next  morning  while  dreaming 

That  you  were  the  minister's  bride. 


96  SWEE T  AL  YSSUM. 


IN  MEMORIAM. 

REV.    ALEXANDER   MARKS,    AUGUST   28th,    1 886. 

"T  T  E  sleeps,"  some  said  with  sighs, 
11     Watching  in  those  dear  eyes 
The  light  of  earth  grow  dim; 

Yet,  while  the  word  they  spoke, 

That  soul  to  glory  woke. 
No  darkness,  now,  for  him. 

At  rest,  so  cold  and  calm, 
Hands  folded  palm  to  palm. 

Alas,  ne'er,  ne'er  again, 
Our  own  shall  feel  their  clasp, 
The  firm,  the  friendly  grasp! 

Hush!  hear  that  other  strain; 

"We  rest  not  night  nor  day, 
But  work  His  will  alway, 

Angels  and  spirits  blest; 
No  weariness  nor  care; 
No  pain  can  enter  here; 

What  need  have  we  for  rest  ? ' ' 

"Adieu,"  on  earth,  was  heard 
From  hearts  with  anguish  stirred. 

In  Paradise,  was  sung 
"Welcome,  thou  soldier  true, 
See  place  prepared  for  you 

The  white-robed  throng  among! 


IN  MEMORIAM.  97 

"Faithful  in  every  trust, 
Thy  armor  shows  no  rust, 

But  beareth  many  a  trace 
That  thou  the  cross  didst  share, 
The  thorny  crown  didst  wear, 

Come,  now,  His  joy  embrace!  " 


Blue  mountains  that  he  loved!     Each  misty  peak 
And  grove  just  tinged  with  autumn's  early  glow! 

Point  heavenward,  to  his   sorrowing  loved   ones 

speak 
Of  peace  that  passeth  all  things  here  below! 

And  harps  are  heard,  the  trumps'  triumphant  sound, 
As  ope  the  gates  before  the  victor  crowned; 
The  rapture,  there,  no  earthly  tongue  may  tell, 
Faith  sees  and  hears,  then  murmurs,  "All  is  well." 


98  SWEET  ALYSSUM. 


WADE  HAMPTON'S  DREAM. 

"  I  believe,  as  confidently  as  I  do  that  I  live,  that  the  prayers 
of  the  people  saved  my  life.     I  will  tell  you  why — ' 

BLEST  is  the  memory  of  the  dead 
Who  for  his  fellowmen  hath  bled; 
Greater  the  hero,  when 
Crushed  by  a  weary  weight  of  woe, 
He  still  will  heavenly  rest  forego, 
And  live  for  other  men. 


Fierce  fever  throbbing  through  my  veins, 
The  body  racked  with  cruel  pains, 

The  mind  with  sense  of  loss; 
I  thought:  Why  longer  seek  to  live  ? 
What  can  the  fairest  future  give 

To  lighten  such  a  cross  ? 

List  to  the  words  that  met  my  ears; 

"  Live,  General,  for  you  people's  prayers 

Are  rising  night  and  day; 
In  every  home  throughout  the  State, 
The  young,  the  old,  the  low,  the  great, 

For  Hampton  hourly  pray." 

My  sister,  standing  near  my  bed, 
The  faithful  pastor's  words  had  read; 

Now  kneeling  by  my  side — 
"Oh!  brother,  hear  and  rouse  your  will; 
Some  earthly  mission  waits  you  still," 

With  eager  love  she  cried. 


WADE  HAMPTON'S  DREAM.         99 

I  slept,  and  in  the  shadowy  land 

Of  midnight  dreams  soon  seemed  to  stand 

Within  a  spacious  room: 
There  saw  each  district  of  the  State; 
Old  Beaufort,  where  I  dwelt  of  late, 

Gleamed  clearest  through  the  gloom. 

Then,  from  the  throng,  one  person  grave 
Drew  near  to  me;  a  touch  he  gave, 

And  said:  "  These  pray  for  you, 
Soldier  and  statesman,  live,  live,  live!  " 
His  words  seemed  quickening  power  to  give, 

I  woke,  as  born  anew. 

The  life-blood,  creeping  through  my  veins, 
Gave  strength  to  meet  the  cruel  pains. 

Now,  by  God's  grace,  who  hears, 
Live  for  these  friends,  I  will,  I  will! 
Live  for  the  cause  of  freedom  still, 

Saved  through  my  people's  prayers. 


SWEET  ALYSSUM. 


TARDY. 

WE  strolled  through  the  autumn  woods  alone, 
I  was  fair  eighteen,  you  thirty-eight; 
The  summer  birds  had  all  southward  flown, 
For  the  coming  of  Love  is  sometimes  late. 

I  plucked  from  the  frost-touched  bough  o'erhead 

A  golden  leaf  in  my  hair  to  twine; 
"  Nay,  that  is  the  wreath  for  me,"  you  said, 

"Spring  flowers  for  sunny  locks  like  thine." 

I  kept  that  leaf  which  now  seemed  dear, 
(The  coming  of  Love  is  not  always  late), 

It  was  emblem  of  one,  not  "dry  and  sere," 
But  wise  and  gifted  and  good  and  great. 

Yet  you  gave  no  sign  till  hope  had  fled 
And  another  came  less  slow  to  woo — 

Blithe,  bonnie  and  brave.     We  were  quickly  wee 
I  was  then  nineteen,  he  twenty-two. 

Your  note,  received  on  my  bridal  morn, 
Said  this— (Ah,  me!  how  hard  is  fate!) — 

"At  last,  sweet  one,  I  have  risked  your  scorn." 
At  last,  faint  heart!     Too  late,  too  late! 


DISSECTION.  101 


DISSECTION. 

A  S  man  grows  callous  on  the  battle  field, 
1\    So,  when — that  nature's  law  be  clear  revealed, 
A  corpse,  late  all  aglow  with  vigorous  life, 
Comes  to  be  carved  by  cold  dissecting  knife, 
One  loses  soon  the  unnerving  sense  of  awe. 
Yet,  at  our  school  a  subject  once  I  saw, 
The  hand  of  veteran  surgeon  might  have  stayed. 
I  think  that  evening  we  were,  all,  afraid. 

Five  at  my  table  for  position  drew; 
The  head  fell  mine,  its  cover  off  I  threw. 
We  saw  a  girl,  a  maid  scarce  seventeen 
Dead  but  a  week,  no  more,  and  fair  and  clean. 
Her  bonnie  hair  braided  each  side  came  down, 
Tied  with  blue  ribbon,  locks  of  golden  brown. 
Her  soft  skin  all  unmarred.     So  had  the  grave, 
And  ghoul' s-hook  sought  that  purity  to  save. 

Moving  with  care  the  silken  band  that  bound 
Her  slender  throat,  a  locket  there  I  found. 
A  woman's  face  was  pictured  in  one  lid, 
Sweet,  motherly,  with  eyes  that  seeming  chid; 
The  other  held  strange  words  for  one  so  mild, — 
"God  do  with  them  as  they  with  thee  my  child; 
— Mother."     The  locket  back  we  laid, 
And  left  that  corpse  untouched.     We  were  afraid! 


102  SWEE  T  AL  YSSUM. 

THE  SILENT  BELL. 

A    LEGEND    OF    COLOGNE. 

IN  the  Fatherland  stands  a  stately  shrine, 
On  the  storied  banks  of  the  lovely  Rhine, 
In  Cologne,  ancient  town; 
Five-hundred  feet  do  its  towers  rise, 
And,  from  marble  towers  that  pierce  the  skies, 
The  sculptured  saints  look  down. 

Look  calmly  down  on  the  roofs  below, 
On  the  men  that  are  hurrying  to  and  fro, 

Like  grains  of  the  desert  sand 
By  warm  winds  stirred,  so  small  they  seem, 
Beneath  the  shade  of  that  poet's  dream 

That  was  sketched  by  a  master-hand. 

A  dream  of  heaven,  there,  framed  in  stone, 
Through  the  toiling  years  to  its  fullness  grown, 

Yet,  wrought  from  one  wondrous  plan, 
And  each  pointed  arch,  as  it  seems  to  blend 
With  the  peaceful  sky,  bids  the  soul  ascend 

Far,  far  from  the  haunts  of  man. 

'Tis  a  link  that  binds  with  the  ages  past 
That  Gothic  pile,  so  grand,  so  vast; 

For,  begun  with  the  fifth  Crusade, 
Not  till  five  centuries  had  flown, 
O'er  cable  came:  "The  final  stone 

In  the  spacious  dome  is  laid." 


THE  SILENT  BELL.  103 

"Now,  from  these   towers,"   quoth  the  Germans 

proud, 
A  mighty  bell  shall  proclaim  aloud 

Our  noble  Emperor's  fame; 
So,  quick  in  the  furnace  let  us  throw, 
The  guns  of  bronze  taken  years  ago, 

When  we  put  proud  France  to  shame!  " 

The  workmen  framed  a  monstrous  mould, 
Full  fifty-thousand  pounds,  we  are  told, 

Were  wrought  in  that  giant  bell; 
And  forth  from  the  flames  came  a  wondrous  sight, 
A  giant  in  size,  but  of  strength  so  slight, 

It  at  once  into  fragments  fell. 

One  more  they  cast,  and  this  stands  the  test, 
So  heaven  they  think  has  the  labor  blest, 

And  'tis  hung  in  the  holy  tower. 
Now,  now  must  the  Emperor's  praise  be  rung — 
So,  to  wake  the  tones  of  that  iron  tongue 

Strive  three-score  men  of  power. 

It  moves  at  length,  but  no  sound  is  stirred, 
From  the  giant  bell  no  voice  is  heard. 

Again,  and  again  they  try. 
Once,  only  once,  as  they  labor  so, 
There  wakens  a  murmur,  deep  and  low, 

A  groan  or  a  plaintive  sigh. 

The  "Silent  Bell,"  as  'twas  called  that  day, 
To  those  who  beneath  it  meet  to  pray, 

This  voiceless  message  bears — 
In  no  temple  raised  to  the  Heavenly  King, 
Should  a  peal  of  praise  and  glory  ring 

For  the  highest  of  earthly  peers. 


104  SWEET  ALYSSUM. 

Lord,  cleanse  Thy  Church  as  Thou  did'st  of  old, 
Cast  from  it  all  that  is  bought  and  sold; 

To  Thy  servant  who  worketh  well, 
Grant,  to  give  the  glory  alone  to  Thee, 
Lest  his  greatest  gift  should  a  failure  be, 

Like  the  Emperor's  Silent  Bell. 


MUSIC. 

DAUGHTER  of  God,  or  Belial's  slave,  she  stands 
With  fading  Ji  I  let  bound  or  crowned  with  stars; 

And  every  soul,  as  Music  soft  commands, 
Soars  or  descends,  vaulting  all  earthly  bars. 


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